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LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


A  PSYCHE  OF  TO  DAY 


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Henry  Holt&  Co.  Publisher 


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- 

OL»  j.  ■,«■».  *  »  ■  ■  ■  tiiimini*  mi  iitrrttimi  m^ 


UIIIH11IIII1.I 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

(Leisure  Hour  Series) 

JUPITER'S  DAUGHTERS. 
WHO  BREAKS  PAYS. 
SKIRMISHING. 
MADAME  DE  BEAUPRE. 
A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 


/ 


LEISURE   HOUR    SERIES. 


A  Psyche  of  To-Day 


BY 


Mrs.  C.  Jenkin 

AUTHOR    OF    "WHO  BREAKS  PAYS,"    "SKIRMISHING,"   ETC 


"I  pray  you,  in  your  letters, 
When  you  shall  these  unlucky  deeds  relate, 

Nothing  extenuate, 

Nor  set  down  aught  in  malice." — Shakspeare. 


NEW  YORK 
HENRY  HOLT  &  COMPANY 

1874 


r 


THIS  STORY 


IS  DEDICATED,  WITH  GREAT  ESTEEM, 


TO 


MONSIEUR  LE  PRESIDENT  FELIX  GILLON. 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  I. 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  Who  is  She  ? 7 

II.  Passing  on 17 

III.  French  Precaution % 27 

IV.  An  Old  Town 38 

V.  A  Soiree  in  the  Old  Town 48 

VI.  The  Shadow  op  Evil 59 

VII.  Youth  and  Age 66 

VIII.  Breakers  Ahead 75 

IX.  "  It's  op  no  use,  Madame" 85 

X.  "  Jeune  Fille  au  Nom  Male  et  Feer  comme 

ton  Cosur" 101 

XI.  Lions 113 

XII.  Definitions  121 

XIII.  Caprices  and  Dreams 131 

XIV.  A  Little  Fool 140 

XV.  Happy  ! 154 

BOOK  II. 

XVI.  An  Anniversary 161 

XVII.  Ripples  on  the  Lake  of  Matrimony 174 

XVIII.  Hlnc  ill.e  Lachrym^e 182 

XIX.  Clouds  And  Mist 201 

XX.  A  Significant  Silence 215 

XXI.  Dark  Shadows  flee 224 

XXII.  Psyche  insists  on  lighting  her  Lamp 240 

XXIII.  Our  Hopes  are  Frozen  Tears 255 

XXIV.  Dying  Echoes 263 

XXV.    A   PiAINBOW  ABOVE  THE   WRECK 270 


A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 


BOOK     I 

C  HAP  T  E  R      I. 

WHO   IS   SHE? 

Paris  was  out  of  town — gone  to  Trouville,  Baden- 
Baden,  Biarritz,  Switzerland. 

No  one  that  was  any  one  was  to  be  met  on  the 
pavement  between  the  Madeleine  and  the  Rue  de 
Richelieu,  save  some  young  officials  of  government 
offices,  hungering  and  thirsting  after  their  annual 
leave  of  absence. 

R  was  the  month  of  August,  close  on  the  15th, 
the  epoch  of  official  compliments,  of  illuminations, 
distributions  of  small  crosses  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor,  of  theatres  opened  gratis  for  the  million  of 
nobodies. 

In  a  darkened  salon  in  a  house  in  the  Rue  Blanche 
sat,  or  rather  reclined,  in  her  red-leather  Spanish 
chair,  Madame  Claire  Saincere,  exactly  as  her 
nephew  Paul  has  painted  her:  a  picture  that  mer- 


8  A   PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 

ited  the  grand  prize  of  Rome,  which  he  has  just 
obtained,  much  more  than  his  enormous  "Thetis 
arming  Achilles."  It  was  this  success  of  her  nephew 
that  had  detained  Madame  Claire  in  Paris.  She  had 
been  waiting  until  Paul  should  take  his  departure 
for  his  native  town,  en  route  for  Italy,  before  setting 
out  herself  to  join  some  friends  at  Interlachen. 

In  the  mean  while  that  little  dark  girl  sitting  op- 
posite to  her  had  arrived,  threatening  another  delay 
to  the  annual  Swiss  tour.  Yet  when  Paul  entered 
the  salon  on  this  hot  Sunday  (he  always  dined  with 
his  aunt  on  Sundays),  he  did  not  perceive  a  trace  of 
vexation  on  the  fair  face — fair  in  spite  of  the  half- 
century  it  had  seen. 

The  cool  quiet  room  was  what  the  young  artist 
wanted.  He  had  walked  thither  in  a  blaze  of  sun- 
shine from  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  he  felt  as 
a  man  might  do,  who,  in  the  desert,  suddenly  came 
on  palm-trees  and  a  fountain.  He  kissed  his  charm- 
ing aunt,  and  was  about  to  speak  when  she  said, 
"  Look  there  !" 

He  then  perceived  the  little  girl  dressed  in  black, 
sitting  so  uncomfortably  upright,  and  with  her 
eyes  at  that  moment  fixed  in  a  wide  stare  on  him- 
self. 

"  Who  is  she  ?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Come  here,  my  child,"  called  the  lady. 

The  girl  rose,  and  came  toward  the  aunt  and 
nephew,  her  head  erect,  her  shoulders  thrown  back, 
her  step  firm  and  free,  her  whole  mien  that  of  one 
conscious  of  some  superiority. 


wno  is  she?  9 

"Will  you  shake  hands  with  me  and  tell  me  your 
name  ?"  said  Paul. 

She  gave  him  her  small  brown  hand,  saying — "I 
am  called  Regina." 

Paul  was  astonished  at  the  sonority  of  her  voice, 
and  said,  by  way  of  saying  something,  "  Regina  is 
an  uncommon  name.  Do  you  know  that  it  means 
queen  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  am  a  Hungarian,  and  I  can  speak  Latin," 
was  the  curt  rejoinder. 

Madame  Saincere  rang  the  bell.  "  Hortense,"  she 
said  to  the  servant  who  answered  the  summons, 
"take  this  child  with  you." 

Retina  left  the  room  with  the  same  solemnitv  of 
demeanor  with  which  she  had  approached  Madame 
Saincere. 

As  soon  as  she  was  out  of  hearing,  Paul  exclaimed, 
"  Who  in  the  name  of  wonder  is  that  heathenish 
picturesque  little  mortal  ?" 

"  She  is  the  child  of  Blanche  de  Rochetaillee." 

"  What !  of  the  girl  who  ran  away  with  that  good- 
for-nothing  Nolopoeus." 

"  Exactly." 

"  And  what  has  become  of  the  unfortunate 
Blanche  ?" 

"  Dead.     Husband  and  wife  both  dead." 

"  The  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  them,  I 
think." 

"  Yes,  as  you  think,  young  Paul." 

"Well,  of  course,  such  a  marriage  could  never 
have  been  other  than  a  miserable  affair." 


10  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  Mistaken  altogether.  Blanche  was  happier  than 
most  women,  in  that  she  never  lost  her  illusion  with 
regard  to  the  man  for  whom  she  had  sacrificed  so 
much." 

"  It's  a  puzzle  to  me  how  a  high-born,  high-bred 
French  girl,  could  have  loved  that  old  adventurer. 
It  looks  like  sorcery." 

"  The  sorcery  of  passion,  my  dear  boy.  Poor 
Blanche  was  only  sixteen  when  she  returned  home 
from  the  convent;  a  rose-bud  of  a  girl,  gentle,  lov- 
ing, shy.  The  Comtesse  treated  her  as  a  child ;  the 
Comte  overlooked  her  entirely.  The  soul  of  the  one 
was  in  her  sons ;  the  soul  of  the  other  in  his  violin. 
Monsieur  de  Rochetaillee  was  a  melomane.  He 
thought  of  nothing,  cared  for  nothing  but  music.  It 
was  the  passion  of  his  life;  he  could  not  live  without 
music  and  musicians.  The  chateau  had  long  been 
considered  a  sort  of  preserve  for  pianists  and  violin- 
ists. It  was  at  the  period  when  Monsieur  Saincere 
was  Procureur  Imperiale  at  Tours,  and  we  saw  a 
good  deal  of  the  Rochetaillees,  who  lived  within  an 
easy  drive  of  the  town. 

"  If  ever  there  was '  a  human  being  possessed  by 
the  demon  of  music,  it  was  Sebastian  Nolopceus. 
Quite  impossible  to  describe  his  playing.  It  was 
such  as  I  had  never  heard  before  nor  have  ever  heard 
since.  He  inspired  his  listeners  with  what  emotions 
he  pleased.  I  remember  once  feeling  as  though  I 
must  kneel  at  his  feet  and  worship  him.  He  had  fine 
features  and  an  elegant  figure,  but  was  already  gray- 
haired — no  great  disadvantage  to  a  dark  man.     In 


WHO    IS   SHE?  11 

spite  of  disparity  of  age  and  rank,  in  spite  of  differ- 
ence of  country,  and  habits  of  life,  he  won  Blanche's 
young  heart.  One  morning  he  was  missing,  and  so 
was  the  young  girl. 

*'  Monsieur  Saincere  was  sent  for  to  the  chateau. 
He  and  the  cure  were  the  only  persons  who  saw  the 
Comte  and  Comtesse  in  the  first  moments  of  alarm, 
surprise,  and  anger.  Some  days  elapsed  before  the 
fugitives  were  traced,  and  this  being  the  case  the 
only  reasonable  thing  to  do  was  to  send  the  consent 
to  her  marriage,  which  Blanche  implored  in  frantic 
words.  Monsieur  Saincere  and  I  went  to  witness 
the  marriage.  After  that,  I  believe  neither  father 
nor  mother  ever  pronounced  their  daughter's  name. 
The  chateau  was  shut  up.  Monsieur  and  Madame 
de  Rochetaillee  came  to  Paris,  and  have  never  since 
left  their  hotel  in  the  Rue  St.  Dominique. 

"  The  news  of  the  birth  of  the  girl  you  have  just 
seen  was  written  to  me  by  Blanche  herself,  accom- 
panied by  an  earnest  prayer  that  I  would  once  more 
intercede  for  her  with  her  parents.  Their  forgive- 
ness was  all  that  was  wanting  to  her  happiness. 
Her  husband  was  a  genius — the  best  of  men — per- 
fection. 

"  I  dared  not  broach  the  subject  by  word  of  mouth 
to  either  Monsieur  or  Madame  de  Rochetaillee,  so  I 
enclosed  the  letter  to  them — a  touching  letter,  full 
of  all  the  babyisms  of  a  young  mother.  It  was  re- 
turned to  me  without  an  observation.  Blanche  was 
then  at  Darmstadt.  I  went  there,  and  to  my  amaze- 
ment found  her  in  downright  poverty.    So  notorious; 


12  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

indeed,  was  her  want  of  common  comforts  during 
her  confinement,  that  Duke  E. —  a  great  admirer  of 
Nolopoeus's  talent — sent  him  five  thousand  francs. 
Will  you  believe  it?  he  lost  every  sous  of  it  the 
same  evening,  at  rouge-et-noir,  and  Blanche  stopped 
my  reproaches  by  asserting  '  that  he  had  done  per- 
fectly right,  for  emotion  of  all  kinds  fostered  his 
genius.'  " 

"  Then  there  really  was  something  superior  in  the 
poor  girl ;  that  power  of  losing  her  own  identity  in 
that  of  another  is  heroic,"  returned  Paul. 

"  No  measuring  the  heights  or  depths  of  woman's 
capabilities  for  good  or  evil,"  said  Madame  Saincere. 
"The  same  woman  who  will  be  an  angel  for  one 
man,  may  prove  a  demon  for  another.  All  depends 
on  some  mysterious  sympathy  of  natures.  However, 
I  am  not  going  to  philosophize,  but  to  finish  my 
story.  Nolopoeus  died,  and  his  poor  little  loving 
wife  has  followed  him  within  the  year.  She  must 
have  met  with  some  good  souls  who  helped  her,  for 
Nolopoeus  died  penniless.  Regina,  as  far  as  I  can 
make  out,  earned  something  by  acting  fairies,  in  bal- 
lets I  suppose." 

"  Poor  child  !    And  what  is  to  come  of  her  now  ?" 

"  I  took  her  yesterday  to  the  Rue  St.  Dominique, 
but  both  the  Comte  and  Comtesse  ignored  her  pres- 
ence. Had  it  not  been  for  an  occasional  twitch  of 
M.  de  Rochetaillee's  mouth  and  for  Madame's  exces- 
sive pallor,  I  should  have  believed  them  to  be  as 
ignorant  as  they  wished  to  appear  of  who  the  child 
was ;  but  it  is  improbable  that  Blanche  did  not  write 


WHO    IS    SHE?  13 

to  them  of  her  own  approaching  death  and  of  hoi 
intention  to  send  her  orphan  to  Paris.  When  I  mus 
tered  courage  to  say,  'This  is  your  grand-daughter,' 
the  Comte  exclaimed, *in  a  loud  harsh  voice,  'Not  a 
word,  not  a  word,  niadame,  as  to  that  young-  person.' 
'But  you  cannot  leave  your  daughter's  child  to 
starve,'  I  said.  lie  answered,  'My  notary  shall 
communicate  with  you,  madame,'  and  then  he  turned 
the  conversation,  hoped  that  my  health  was  good, 
that  my  family  were  all  well,  was  glad  to  know  that 
it  was  my  nephew  who  had  gained  the  great  prize  of 
Rome.  I  left  them  without  much  ceremony,  as  you 
may  believe." 

"  What  a  tempestuous  family  !"  exclaimed  Paul ; 
"and  little  Miss  looks  as  if  she  had  inherited  the 
stormy  temperament  of  her  family." 

"  Ah  !  poor  little  thing  !" 

"  Ah !  poor  aunt ;  for  the  upshot  of  the  matter  is, 
that  she  is  left  on  your  hands." 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  lecture  me  as  your 
cousin  Camille  did  this  morning.  To  hear  her,  one 
would  suppose  that  this  unlucky  orphan  was  about 
to  deprive  me  of  fortune  and  reputation." 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that,"  replied  Paid.  "  Still  I  fear 
you  will  find  her  often  in  the  way.  You  have  been 
so  free  of  encumbrances,  so  comfortably  without 
responsibility,  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  your  begin- 
ning to  have  any  worries;  they  will  spoil  all  the 
placidity  that  makes  you  the  most  lovely  and  the 
most  charming  of  women." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Paul ;  it  is  pleasant  at  my  age 

1* 


14  A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 

to  hear  such  compliments;  hut  do  you  suppose  it  is 
a  happiness  to  have  no  one  to  wake  for,  to  think  for, 
to  be  uneasy  or  pleased  about — to  lead  the  life  of  a 
stalled  ox  ?" 

"  I  have  not  a  word  to  say  against  your  adopting 
this  gipsy,  if  it  pleasures  you.  I  spoke  entirely  in 
your  interest." 

"  Camille  was  very  grand  in  her  warnings,  par- 
ticularly as  to  the  pecuniary  part  of  the  affair.  None 
of  my  friends  need  fear  I  shall  be  ruined  or  thwart 
them  of  their  share  of  my  fortune.  M.  de  Roche- 
taillee's  notary  has  already  informed  me  that  he  has 
orders  to  furnish  me,  or  any  one  I  may  name,  with 
two  hundred  a  year  for  Mademoiselle  Nolopceus' 
education  and  other  expenses.  So  much  for  the 
present.  In  the  future,  she  must  inherit  her  mother's 
portion." 

"  My  clear  aunt,  I  was  not  thinking  of  money  at 
all,  but  of  your  freedom  of  action,  of  your  entire 
liberty  to  do  as  you  like  and  go  where  you  like." 

"  And,  Paul,  I  answer,  no  one  is  at  liberty  to  be 
of  no  use  to  a  fellow-creature." 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  he  said.  "  Now  let  us  have  an- 
other look  at  Mademoiselle  Nolopceus." 

This  was  what  had  been  passing  in  the  kitchen 
during  the  colloquy  in  the  salon: 

"  You  can  sit  in  that  corner,"  and  Hortense  pointed 
to  a  small  wooden  bench.  "  How  old  are  you  ?"  she 
continued,  as  she  dipped  the  escallopes  de  veau  in 
the  delicate  white  bread-crumbs. 

Regina  took  the  question  into  consideration  for 


WHO   IS   SHE?  15 

some  five  minutes,  then  answered  in  a  solemn  voice, 
"  About  ten,  I  believe,  but  don't  ask  me  any  more 
questions,  for  I  don't  mean  to  answer  them." 

A  beautiful  young  woman  was  that  Hortense,  fair, 
healthy,  gay,  and  giddy,  a  beauty  in  Reubens'  best 
style.  She  was  a  severe  trial  to  Madame  Saincere, 
beintr  a  light  that  attracted  crowds  of  moths,  but, 
entre  nous,  Madame  Saincere  was  one  of  those  peo- 
ple who  come  into  the  world  as  it  would  seem  ex- 
pressly to  help  one  pilgrim  after  another  on  their 
road. 

As  Regina  had  declared  she  would  not  reply  to 
any  interrogatories,  Hortense,  incapable  of  silence, 
burst  into  song,  singing  after  her  own  fashion  half-a- 
dozen  operatic  airs. 

"You  sing  like  a  bird,"  observed  Regina. 

"  As  how  ?"  asked  Hortense,  flattered. 

"Without  speaking  words,"  explained  Regina; 
then  evidently  fascinated  by  Hortense's  beauty  and 
gayety,  she  added,  "  I  can  help  you,  I  know  how  to 
cook." 

"You  help  me?"  exclaimed  Hortense,  laughing 
and  showing  all  her  wonderfully  regular  little  teeth. 

"  You  are  very  pretty,"  said  Regina. 

"  So  I  am  told,"  replied  Hortense,  feeling  a  friend- 
ship for  this  naive  and  disinterested  admirer. 

"Pray,  what  do  you  know  about  cooking?" 

"  I  know  how  to  roast  and  fry,  and  I  can  make  an 
omelette." 

Hortense  stared  at  her.  "  Who  are  you  ?  I  thought 
you  were  the  daughter  of  a  friend  of  madarae's." 


16  A   PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

Regina  smiled  scornfully.  "  I  am  called  Regina, 
because  I  have  royal  blood  in  my  veins ;  my  mother 
was  the  daughter  of  French  nobles,  but  my  father 
was  Sebastian  Xolopoeus,  the  greatest  player  on  the 
violin  ever  heard.  Kings  came  and  bowed  to  him. ' 
My  father  was  a  royal  man." 

Hortense  continued  to  stare  at  the  little  solemn 
speaker,  "Pray,  may  I  inquire  whereabouts  your 
father's  kingdom  is  ?" 

"  In  the  East — I  never  lie,"  and  the  girl  sank  into 
obstinate  silence. 


CHAPTER    II. 

PASSING   ON.' 

It  was  decided  that  Regina  should  be  sent  to 
school.  The  institution  (schools  are  all  institutions 
in  France) — the  institution  chosen  was  that  under 
the  direction  of  Madame  Flot,  at  Passy. 

To  what  height  of  power  might  not  Madame  Flot 
have  attained  had  she  been  born  a  man  instead  of  a 
woman  !  She  was  adroit,  penetrating,  self-confident, 
indefatigably  active,  and  something  unscrupulous  in 
the  means  she  used  to  attain  her  ends :  good-tem- 
pered, good-natured,  and  withal,  possessed  of  a  vig- 
orous constitution.  Her  blood  ran  equably  and 
strongly  through  her  veins.  No  feebleness  about 
Madame  Flot ;  and  this  plentitude  of  physical 
strength  gave  her  a  general  ascendancy.  Rosy, 
plump,  smiling— she  appeared  a  very  incarnation  of 
prosperity  ;  and  to  appear  prosperous  is  a  great  help 
to  becoming  so.  "Who,  for  instance,  could  have  con- 
fidence in  the  talent  of  the  lean  apothecary  in  Romeo 
and  Juliet  ? 

Whatever  were  Madame  Flot's  private  troubles, 
she  carefully  hid  them.  No  one  ever  heard  her  com- 
plain of  her  idle  smoking  husband.  She  never 
sounded  the  alarum  of  her  woes  and  deceptions. 
She  never  presented  her  public  with  any  but  bright 
pictures. 

2* 


18  A   rSYCHE    OF   TO-DAY. 

Madame  Saincere  had  no  sooner  asked  a  question 
as  to  the  terms  of  the  institution  than  Madame  Flot 
was  down  upon  her. 

"  You  have  a  little  girl — give  her  to  me.  I'll 
make  her  everything  you  can  desire.  All  my  pupils 
are  happy  and  clever  and  good.  Tenez,  look  at  that 
group  in  the  garden.  The  eldest  is  to  be  married  in 
three  weeks.  -She  left  me  only  two  months  ago,  and 
is  here  to-day  merely  as  a  visitor.  All  my  girls 
make  capital  marriages.  I  have  fifty  English  — 
pretty  fair  creatures ;  not  more  than  a  dozen  Ger- 
mans— excellent  solid  paste  [bonne pate).  Yes,  yes. 
Dear  lady,  trust  me  with  your  little  girl.  As  to 
terms  :  the  first  year,  a  thousand  francs,  including 
our  uniform,  but  not  other  clothes.  She  must  have 
a  trousseau.  See  what  large  grounds  we  possess ; 
and  give  a  look  at  our  chapel  decorated  with  paint- 
ings done  by  my  pupils.  Monsieur  l'Abbe  Labaume 
takes  such  an  interest  in  us.  He  comes  right  across 
Paris  to  say  our  Mass.  Excellent  man ;  perfectly  to 
be  trusted  with  young  tender  hearts.  Not  severe— 
not  too  earnest  about  confession.  Between  us,  quite 
a  man  of  the  world — of  the  best  world,"  and  so  on 
talked  the  smiling  head  of  the  institution  for  young 
ladies  at  Passy. 

At  the  sight  of  so  many  happy-looking  healthy 
young  creatures  frolicking  in  the  garden,  Madame 
Saincere  thought  she  could  not  do  better  than  send 
the  tragical-looking  orphan  to  join  them. 

She  was  then  led  through  the  interior  of  the  house 


PASSING  ON.  19 

Large  dormitories,  Avell  aired  in  summer,  well  warmed 
in  winter;  a  dozen  pianos  going  at  once  in  half-a- 
dozen  successive  rooms;  some  half  a  hundred  easels 
in  a  long  gallery.  Everything  on  a  great  scale — on 
a  scale  in  harmony  with  the  mistress. 

Madame  Saincere  took  leave  of  Madame  Flot  say- 
ing she  would  think  the  matter  over;  but  Madame 
Flot  had  no  doubts  as  to  the  result  of  Madame 
Saincere's  reflections. 

Madame  Flot  had  dexterously  gained  a  knowledge 
of  all  the  circumstances  of  Regina's  story,  and  also 
had  penetrated  Madame  Saincere's  perplexities,  not 
free  of  alarm  at  the  charge  that  had  been  so  unex- 
pectedly thrown  on  her. 

"  The  girl  will  be  here  within  a  week,"  soliloquized 
the  schoolmistress;  "she  shall  have  No.  15  bed. 
The  poor  lady  is  dying  to  get  rid  of  her  in  a  credit- 
able manner — a  child  interferes  so  with  a  woman's 
liberty.  I  understand  perfectly  well  we  would  like 
to  save  '  the  £joat  and  the  cabbage.'  " 

Madame  Flot  judged  Madame  Saincere  according 
to  Madame  Flot's  self.  We  have  no  other  standard 
measure  than  ourselves — personally  as  mentally.  Is 
it  not  affirmed  on  good  authority  that  in  every 
painter's  work — be  it  historical  or  portraiture — you 
will  always  find  a  likeness  to  the  painter's  self? 
Roundness,  shortness  of  lines,  and  fairness;  or  length, 
thinness,  and  darkness,  as  it  happens  to  be  with  the 
artist's  own  person. 

Paul  Latour's  departure  for  Rome  coincided  with 


20  A  TSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

that  of  Regina's  for  school.  Regina,  dressed  in  the 
uniform  of  Madame  Flot's  institution,  came  to  wish 
Madame  Saincere  and  her  nephew  good-by. 

"  What  a  metamorphosis  !  Xot  so  picturesque 
though,"  exclaimed  Paul,  as  he  surveyed  Regina. 

"  I  come  to  thank  you,  madame,  for  all  your  kind- 
ness to  me,"  said  the  little  girl,  with  apparent  self- 
possession. 

"  You  will  be  good,  I  am  sure.  Strive  also  to 
learn,"  said  Madame  Saincere.  "  If  Madame  Flot  is 
satisfied  with  you,  your  Christmas  holidays  shall  be 
spent  with  me." 

Reo-ina  still  lino-ered. 

"  It  is  time  for  you  to  go,  ma  petite.  Has  Hor- 
tense  got  the  key  of  your  trunk  ?  Come  and  em- 
brace me." 

Regina  held  up  her  face — the  patient  face  of  a 
child  who  has  never  known  anything  but  sorrow. 

"  Come  and  kiss  me  also,  Regina,"  said  Paul ;  and 
slipping  a  small  gold  piece  into  her  hand,  he  whis- 
pered, "Buy  yourself  a  doll  as  a  keep  sake  from  me." 

The  girl  made  no  answer ;  but  when  she  was  in 
the  coach,  Hortense  perceived  that  she  was  crying. 

"Don't  be  a  coward,"  said  Hortense.  "They 
won't  eat  you  at  school.  You  ought  to  be  very  glad 
you  are  going  to  learn  music  and  dancing.  You  are 
born  under  a  lucky  star,  mafoi." 

"  I  am  not  a  coward.  That's  not  why  I  am  crying. 
You  might  beat  me  to  death,  and  I  would  not  cry." 

"  Cry,  then,  if  it's  a  pleasure  to  you." 


PASSING   ON.  21 

Paul  Latour  cle  la  Mothe  was  at  this  period  a 
young  man  of  thrce-and-twenty,  with  manners  pecu- 
liarly agreeable  to  women  of  all  ages  and  classes. 
His  had  been  the  every-day  story  of  early  inclina- 
tions thwarted,  of  obstacles  thrown  in  the  way  of  the 
strong  bias  of  the  individual. 

Paul  was  born  a  painter,  and  his  father  and  mother 
insisted  on  his  becoming  a  Government  employe. 
Paul  had  loved,  with  the  love  that  comes  but  once 
in  life,  a  girl  who  had  grown  up  at  his  side ;  but  his 
mother  had  as  strong  an  antipathy  for  the  object 
of  her  son's  affections  as  for  painting,  and  indeed 
for  art  in  general. 

Few  Frenchmen  resist  the  wishes  or  defy  the  pro- 
hibitions of  their  parents  in  the  matter  of  marriage  ; 
and  Paul  submitted  to  the  sentence  of  condemnation 
passed  on  his  love.  But  having  given  up  his  incli- 
nations on  one  po'int,  he  claimed  compensation  in 
another,  and  Monsieur  and  Madame  Latour  de  la 
Mothe  had  to  consent  to  his  going  to  Paris,  to  enrol 
himself  among  the  pupils  of  Forgres. 

Disappointment  in  one  matter  is  often  the  step- 
ping-stone to  success  in  another — Paul  regretting 
Adeline  had  no  stomach  for  Paris  dissipation.  He 
gave  himself  entirely  to  the  new  mistress  gained  by 
such  a  sacrifice;  and  as  concentration  of  will  is, 
sooner  or  later,  sure  of  victory,  we  find  him,  after 
two  years'  study,  the  successful  competitor  for  the 
grand  prize  of  Home  for  painting. 

The  evening  before  his  departure  for  Italy,  the 
same   on   which   Regina   had   gone  to  Passy,  Paul 


22  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

lounged  late  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  not  in  the  prin- 
cipal walk  but  in  some  of  the  side  alleys  undi 
trees.     The  lights  and  sounds  from  the  cafes-  ...nan- 
tants  reached   him   softened,  and  made  a  pleasant 
accompaniment  to  his  reverie. 

What  boundless  hopes,  what  vast  aspirations  dila- 
ted his  breast !  His  Adeline  si  mignonne  et  si  grou- 
cieuse  had  no  more  consistency  in  his  memory  at  that 
moment  than  the  shadow  in  a  dream.  No  Eve  of 
mortal  birth  decked  his  fancy — busy  with  visions  ol 
superhuman  beauty — such  as  may  have  floated  be- 
fore the  rapt  eyes  of  the  young  Raphael.  Paul  felt 
no  doubt  as  the  great  Alexander  did  when  he  set 
out  on  his  mighty  military  promenade ;  Paul  was 
going  also  to  conquer  new  worlds. 

Paul's  mother  sat  at  home  in  the  family  house  in 
the  quiet  country  town,  where  this  only  and  beloved 
son  was  born,  and  asked  herself  how  it  i  she  had 
given  birth  to  a  genius?  Why  must  she  of  all  wo- 
men be  so  unfortunate  ?  Not  one  of  her  neighbors 
could  make  the  same  comjilaint — their  sons  left  the 
Lycee,  went  into  banks,  bureaux  or  ministflres,  sure, 
if  long  enough  life  was  granted  them,  to  become  Re- 
ceivers-General, or  Directors,  or  Inspectors  of  some- 
thing or  other ;  sure  after  threescore  and  ten  of  a 
pension.  Sons  willing  to  marry  the  girl  of  their 
mother's  choice,  and  affording  their  parents  the  in- 
effable joy  of  at  least  one  grandchild. 

And  she,  who  only  asked  of  Heaven  an  ordinary 
mortal,  who  saw  no  use  in  a  young  man  who  would 
inherit  from  twelve  to  fifteen  thousand  francs,  hav- 


PASSING   ON.  23 

'ngr  any  peculiar  talent,  she  must  consent  to  her  son 
-ling  a  sort  of  vagabond — to  his  going  to  Rome 
— ha**  over  the  world  perhaps.  And  after  all,  where 
was  the  certainty  if  he  had  any  such  wonderful  tal- 
ent. It  might  have  been  better  to  let  him  marry 
that  frivolous  Adeline,  with  a  purse  as  light  as  her 
head. 

Madame  Latour  de  la  Mothe  sat  at  her  window 
watching  the  same  sunset  as  Paul  was  contemplating 
in  Paris ;  but  hers  were  no  pleasant  visions— she 
was  as  sorrowful  as  Sisera's  mother  waiting  in  vain 
for  her  son's  return.  Though  death  had  not  placed 
its  icy  barrier  between  them,  she  felt  that  they  were 
nevertheless  forever  separated.  She  and  Paul  would 
never  again  live  together  as  they  had  done;  they 
would  meet  occasionally,  but  he  would  never  again 
be  Avholly  hers,  dwelling  under  the  same  roof,  giving 
and  rec<  ig  the  late  and  early  kiss — never  more — 
never  more.  She  had  lost  her  son.  Oh  !  how  she 
anathematized  Paris,  and  Rome,  and  art,  and  boyish 
love ! 


When  Paul  entered  his  bedroom,  he  found  Hor- 
tense  on  her  knees  before  his  half-packed  trunk. 
"You  spoil  me,  Hortense,  because  I  am  going  away." 
"  When  are  you  coming  back,  Monsieur  Paul  ?" 
"  Not  for  many  years  I  hope  and  believe,"  he  said, 
sitting  down  so  as  to  get  a  good  view  of  the  beau- 
tiful girl.  Hortense  seemed  to  bloom  into  greater 
loveliness  under  his  long  gaze. 


24  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"I  have  finished  packing  your  other  trunk,  Mon- 
sieur Paul.  Who  are  you  going  to  stay  with,  who 
is  to  take  care  of  you,  send  your  things  to  the  wash, 
and  sew  on  your  buttons  ?" 

"  That  reminds  me,"  he  said.  "  Get  a  needle  and 
thread,  like  a  good  girl,  and  show  me  how  to  fasten 
on  a  button." 

Hortense  burst  into  one  of  her  wildest  laughs, 
every  one  of  her  little  teeth  in  sight. 

"Many  a  fine  lady  would  give  half  her  fortune  to 
have  your  teeth,"  said  Paul.  "  But  I  am  in  earnest 
about  the  buttons — get  a  needle  and  thread." 

She   fetched    her  work-box,    and   as-ain   kneeling 

1  O  CD 

down,  this  time  close  to  his  knee,  she  began  the  les- 
son. In  spite  of  being  only  a  bonne,  Hortense  had 
small  taper  fingers,  and  Paul  remarked  this  and 
also  a  certain  agitation  and  short  breathing  about 
her. 

"  You  will  never  be  able  to  do  it,  Monsieur  Paul," 
she  said,  pettishly,  snatching  the  needle  out  of  his 
hand.  "  This  house  will  be  like  a  tomb  when  you 
are  gone." 

"  Xot  as  long  as  such  a  blithe  bird  as  you  remain 
in  it,"  replied  Paul. 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  stay  in  it,  Monsieur  Paul. 
I  don't  mean  to  go  on  all  my  life  cooking  and  slav- 
ing.     I  can  better  myself,  and — I  shall." 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  object,"  said  Paul,  laughing  at 
the  girl's  tragedy  tone. 

She  rose  from  her  knees  at  his  side,  and  stood 
facing  him  with  angry  eyes.     "  You   don't  object !" 


PASSING  ON.  25 

she  repeated  mockingly  ;  "  yon  mean  yon  don't  care 
what  becomes  of  mo  !" 

"I  don't  know  yon  in  this  mood.  Yon  shouldn't 
be  cross  to  me  the  last  evening  you  may  ever  see 
me." 

"  Oh !  Monsieur  Paul,  Monsieur  Paul,  I  am  not 
cross ;  it  is  not  that !"  Hortense  paused,  grew  first 
very  red,  then  turned  pale  as  ashes.  She  added,  in 
quick,  short  accents,  "  I  can  go  on  the  stage,  if  I 
please ;  I  have  an  offer  from  the  manager  of  the 
'Gaiete.'" 

"Why,  where  did  he  ever  see  you?"  asked  Paul, 
surprised. 

"  Never  mind.     Shall  I  accept  the  engagement  ?" 

"  Better  remain  with  my  good  aunt." 

"  Not  after  you  are  gone,"  and  her  eyes  met  his 
entreatingly. 

It  was  Paul's  turn  to  change  color.  He  said, 
hesitatingly,  "I  wish  you  every  good,  and  I  hope 
whatever  change  you  make  may  be  for  your  happi- 
ness." 

"  I  wonder  if  gentlemen  ever  have  any  heart  for 
poor  girls  like  me  !"  ejaculated  Hortense.  "  Good- 
by,  Monsieur  Paul,  good-by." 

"  Shake  hands,  Hortense." 

She  thrust  back  his  offered  hand  violently,  and  ran 
out  of  the  room. 

Paul  waited  some  time,  expecting,  perhaps  wish- 
ing, her  to  come  back ;  but  his  good  angel  prevailed. 

And  so  next  morning  he  set  off  alone  for  Rome. 

Mademoiselle  Adeline  Mayer,  whom  he  had  loved, 

2 


20  A   PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

and  who  had  owned  she  loved  him  passing  well,  mar- 
ried shortly  after,  by  desire  of  her  parents.  3i.  Victor 
Aubry,  a  proprietor  of  fruitful  vineyards  in  Cham* 
pagne,  and  Hortense  Secorbean  left  Madame  Saiu- 
cere's  service  to  enter  that  of  the  "  Great  Serpent," 


CHAPTER  III. 

FRENCH   PRECAUTION. 

The  next  six  years  was  a  term  of  trace  in  the 
destiny  of  our  dramatis  personal. 

Regina  went  through  the  usual  vicissitudes  of  a 
school-girl's  life,  even  to  having  the  typhus  fever, 
Paul  remained  obstinately  in  Rome. 

Possibly  he  might  have  returned  sooner,  but  for 
the  continual  harping  of  his  mother  on  one  string, 
that  of  his  marriage.  Madame  Latour  de  la  Mothe 
continued  to  cherish  the  hope  that  her  son  would 
renounce  painting,  and  settle  down  a  married  man 
in  his  native  place,  and  during  these  six  years  found 
at  least  three  models  of  perfection,  any  one  of  whom 
she  would  have  welcomed  as  a  daughter-in-law. 

"We  constantly  see  the  most  formidable  obstacles 
removed  by  a  persevering  pressure,  and  the  strongest 
determinations  fall  before  the  tenacious  efforts  of 
feebleness.  Thus,  one  fine  day,  Paul,  wearied  out, 
set  off  for  Juvigny,  his  native  town,  to  be  intro- 
duced to  one  of  his  mother's  unexceptionable  "  rose- 
buds." Sphinxes  clothed  in  white  muslin,  Paul  called 
young  girls  with  suitable  dots.     ■ 

Before  Paul  arrived  in  Paris,  Madame  Saincere 
knew  that  the  matrimonial  negotiation  had  failed — 
failed,  according  to  Madame  Latour  de  la  Mothe's 


28  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

version,  through  the  abominable  coquetry  of  "  that 
Adeline  Aubry." 

Madame  Saincere  was  enjoined  by  her  sister  to 
talk  reason  with  Paul  on  this  subject. 

Thus  one  evening  she  said,  "  I  don't  think  I  have 
heard  you  laugh  once  since  you  arrived." 

"  Is  that  a  matter  of  regret  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  A  laugh  is  like  a  ray  of  sun- 
shine. I  am  of  Ninon's  opinion :  '  Que  la  joie  de 
V esprit  est  la  mesure  de  sa  force.'' " 

"  The  gayety  of  a  mind  need  not  express  itself  by 
laughter.  At  nearly  nine-and-twenty  a  man  has  had 
some  experience.  He  is  partially  disabused  as  to 
the  charms  of  existence,  and  as  life  begins  to  appear 
to  him  a  misty  problem,  he  is  less  disposed  to  laugh." 

Madame  Saincere  took  up  the  conversation  by  a 
change  of  subject.  "  And  so  you  found  everything 
at  Juvigny  much  as  when  you  left." 

Paul  lifted  the  lids  of  his  eyes  and  looked  fixedly 
at  his  aunt.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  found  very  little 
the  same.  The  lower  town  is  no  longer  lighted  by 
dripping  oil-lamps,  swung  across  the  streets.  It  has 
gas,  and  there  are  tolerable  pavements  where  thei-e 
were  formerly  none.  There  are  fewer  dirt-heaps 
before  the  old  houses  in  the  Cote  de  la  Tour.  My 
mother's  hair  is  nearly  white.  Those  I  left  boys  and 
girls  are  men  and  women — the  fathers  and  mothers 
of  other  girls  and  boys." 

"  One  would  imagine  you  had  been  absent  twenty 
years  instead  of  six.  The  air  of  Juvigny  is  not  good 
for  you,  Paul.    When  your  mother  wishes  to  see  you 


FRENCH  PRECAUTION.  29 

let  her  come  here.  Hard  work  is  what  you  require. 
Remember  if  a  man  has  not  done  something  worth 
doing  by  the  time  he  is  five-and-thirty  he  may  be 
considered  a  failure.  It  is  not  easy  to  build  up  a 
reputation,  therefore  as  few  holidays  as  possible." 

"  Why  tight  about  the  bush  ?"  he  said,  growing 
pale,  his  features  contracting  as  in  a  crisis  of  bodily 
pain.  "  I  see  that  my  mother  has  written  you  all 
her  fears  and  conjectures." 

"  She  has  told  me  all  that  is  commonly  said  of  you 
and  Madame  Aubry. 

"  Inventions,"  he  replied. 

"  All  inventions  are  based  on  some  truth,  friend 
Paul.  You  are  on  a  slippery  path ;  have  you  ever 
considered  whither  it  leads?  Oh,  heavens!  that 
men  and  women  will  be  such  fools  !  And  for  what  ? 
the  most  evanescent  thing  in  the  world.  ~No  love 
lasts,  Paul." 

He  looked  angrily  at  her.  "  Mine  has  lasted  eight 
years." 

She  smiled.  "  And  yet  you  remained  absent  six 
years,  of  your  own  free  will.  If  you  spoke  truly  you 
would  say  that  your  boy's  feelings  have  been  revived 
by  meeting  Madame  Aubry  again,  and  very  likely 
6he  has  done  her  best  to  revive  them." 

"  Women  are  always  cruel  in  their  judgments  of 
women,"  he  returned. 

"  Perhaps — at  any  rate  men  always  say  so — when 
we  interfere  with  their  game.  I  wonder  how  you 
would  judge  the  case  were  it  your  -own  instead  of 
M.  Aubry's  ?" 

3* 


30  A   rSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"Hang  him:  he  cares  for  nothing  but  his  fishing 
and  his  vines.  He  sees  nothing,  hears  nothing  :  he 
is  a  mere  lump  of  matter;  unable  to  comprehend 
her.  Her  mother  is  absorbed  by  whist  and  her  con- 
fessor— all  the  women  are  jealous  of  Her.  And  you 
want  to  rob  her  of  her  only  friend !" 

"  What  you  feel  is  not  friendship) !" 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  am  the  best  judge  of  my 
own  feelings ;  and  I  know  that  it  is  a  strong  affec- 
tion, and  not  a  passion  I  have  for  Adeline." 

"  So  much  the  better,  my  dear ;  at  the  same  time 
take  an  old  woman's  counsel — remain  in  Paris,  and 
give  up  Juvigny." 

Here  the  conversation  ended  for  the  present ;  Mad- 
ame Saincere  putting  her  trust  for  Paul's  cure  rather 
in  the  fascinations  and  pleasures  of  Paris,  than  in  the 
efficacy  of  her  counsels. 

In  the  course  of  the  following  month  Paul  was 
established  in  a  suitable  atelier  and  apartment  in 
the  Rue  Blene,  not  five  minutes'  walk  from  his 
aunt's  house.  What  with  the  gentle  blasts  from 
Fame's  trumpet  which  had  preceded  his  arrival — 
what  Avith  the  intimacies  he  had  formed  in  Italy, 
and  his  birth  and  easy  fortune,  he  was  received  into 
the  worlds  of  art  and  fashion  with  equal  cordiality. 
He  had  not  to  make  his  way — way  was  made  for 
him.  Every  Sunday,  however,  Paul  passed  in  the 
Hue  Blanche.  It  was  on  these  Sundays  that  he  and 
Regina  met,  it  being  one  of  the  customs  of  Madame 
Plot's  institution  that  her  young  ladies  should  go 
and  spend  every  alternate  Sunday  with  their-  parents 


FRENCH   PRECAUTION.  3L 

or  friends.  Paul  soon  observed  that  Regina  was  as 
little  changed  in  manner  as  in  appearance.  She  was 
still  given  to  haunting  the  corners  of  rooms — still 
shy  and  without  expansiveness.  He  remarked  also 
that  she  wus  far  from  being  a  favorite  among  his 
aunt's  relations;  and  it  was  equally  clear  to  him 
that  she  never  sought  to  propitiate  any  one.  He 
asked  himself  if  this  absence  of  all  desire  to  please 
was  a  virtue,  or  the  want  of  one. 

Madame  Saincere  explained  this  sort  of  apathy 
by  placing  it  to  the  account  of  the  typhus  fever, 
from  which  Regina  had  only  lately  recovered.  The 
sight  of  Regina  brought  back  Hortense  to  Paul's 
recollection. 

"  She  is  a  demi-monde  celebrity,"  said  Madame 
Saincere,  in  answer  to  his  inquiries.  "  I  have  once 
or  twice  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  in  a  carriage  and 
four  going  to  the  races.  She  never  fails  to  send 
me  a  magnificent  bouquet  every  New  Year's  Day, 
with  her  humble  respects ;  and  I  more  than  suspect 
that  all  Regina's  handsome  Hrennes.  sent  anony- 
mously, proceed  from  the  same  source." 

Though  Paul  dined  alone  with  Madame  Saincere 
on  Sundays,  Regina  counting  for  nothing,  there  was 
always  an  addition  in  the  evening  of  some  half-dozen 
intimates,  of  many  years'  standing,  or  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  those  intimates.     There  was  first,  Dr. 

M ,  an  oracle  with  Madame  Saincere — a  well  of 

science,  a  systematist  defending  his  opinions  with 
obstinacy,  yet  never  with  passion.  There  was  Old 
General  Fey,  with   the  rude  voice   and  soft   heart;. 


32  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

believing,  and  loudly  asserting  that  all  the  prosper- 
ity of  France  vanished  with  Louis  Philippe's  green 
umbrella.  The  two  brother  sculptors,  Emile  and 
Gustave  Roule,  young,  joyous,  full  of  promise  as 
spring;  Jean  Bertrand,  the  well-known  author — 
every  page  of  whose  writings  betrays  the  tender 
sentiment  and  benevolence  of  the  writer  ;  and  who, 
in  conversation,  is  an  exasperating  pessimist,  con- 
tinually citing  Leopardi's  dictum,  that  "  the  world 
is  a  league  of  villains  against  the  good — of  the  vile 
against  the  noble."  But  the  person  who  most  im- 
pressed Regina  was  Madame  Daville.  To  the  school- 
girl it  seemed  natural  that  men  should  argue  and 
declaim ;  but  that  a  woman,  and  such  a  little  wo- 
man, should  dispute,  and  harangue,  criticise,  and 
condemn  Government  and  senators,  hold  her  own, 
nay,  silence  even  Monsieur  Bertrand,  was  a  miracle 
to  Madame  Flot's  pupil.  What  sort  of  a  man  must 
Monsieur  Daville  be,  to  dare  to  be  Madame  Daville's 
husband  ?  An  ogre  seven  feet  high  at  least,  thought 
Regina. 

For  the  last  two  years  she  had  been  present  twice 
a  month  at  these  meetings,  learning  very  different 
things  from  what  wei-e  taught  at  Passy.  Sometimes, 
when  her  friends  were  gone,  Madame  Saincere  would 
remember  Regina's  existence,  and  say — 

"  My  dear,  you  should  have  been  in  bed  long  ago. 
Are  you  not  sleepy,  child  ?" 

"  Xo,  madame ;  I  like  to  listen." 

For  an  instant  it  would  cross  Madame  Saincere's 
mind  that  all  the  subjects  discussed  might  not  be 


FRENCH   PRECAUTION.  33 

the  fittest  for  a  young  girl  to  hear;  but  the  thought 
was  forgotten  before  the  end  of  the  fortnight  brought 
Regina  back  to  her  corner.  She  sat  there,  quiet  as 
a  carved  image,  for  many  and  many  a  Sunday  after 
Paul  formed  one  of  the  group. 

Neither  aunt  nor  nephew  remarked  that  the  mar- 
ble was  losing  its  rigidity  and  its  coldness,  that  the 
eyes  were  less  disposed  to  immobility.  The  statue 
was  imbibing  life ;  but  none  in  that  salon  perceived 
the  progress  of  transformation.  Yet  as  the  girl 
passed  along  the  streets,  many  of  those  who  met  her 
turned  to  look  again  in  admiration  of  her  beauty. 
Her  schoolfellows  also  began  to  be  civil  to  her ; 
beauty  wields  a  sceptre  even  in  institutions  such  as 
that  of  Passy.  But  Madame  Saincere  and  Paul  only 
saw  the  Regina  of  other  days.  Paul  had  said  of 
her,  "  a  reserved  child  is  as  disappointing  as  a  vio- 
let without  perfume,"  and  had  ceased  to  notice  her. 
His  nature  craved  for  expansiveness  as  much  as  did 
that  of  Regina's. 

It  was  all  at  once  that  Madame  Saincere  awoke  to 
the  fact  that  her  protegee  was  a  grown-up  hand- 
some girL  Her  enlightenment  came  from  seeing 
the  eyes  of  the  brothers  Roule  constantly  straying 
to  a  particular  angle  of  her  salon.  "  Ah,  ha !"  thought 
Madame  Saincere,  "  here  is  a  new  trouble.  Good 
heavens  !  how  time  passes !  I  must  put  some  order 
in  this  affair.  Poor  Emile  has  neither  money  nor 
position;  it  will  not  do." 

Regina  was  left  at  Passy  for  some  weeks.  The 
poor  girl  paled  and  pined,  and  Madame  Flot,  who 


34  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

hated  ill  health,  wrote  to  Madame  Saincere  that 
Mademoiselle  Nolopoeus  was  indisposed,  and  that 
the  physician  of  the  institution  prescribed  change 
of  air. 

"  How  in  the  world  am  I  to  marry  that  girl  ?" 
exclaimed  Madame  Saincere.  "  The  only  man  I  see 
who  has  any  fortune  is  Jean  Bertrand,  and  he  is  too 
old." 

"  Tell  her  school-mistress  to  look  out  for  a  suitable 
husband  for  her.  The  Confessor  will  be  able  to 
help."  This  was  Paul's  advice,  and  yet  he  had  had 
some  experience  that  girls  are  not  mere  bodies  with- 
out wills  or  hearts. 

Madame  Saincere  was  a  Frenchwoman,  and,  there- 
fore, not  at  all  shocked  by  Paul's  advice.  A  hus- 
band had  been  found  for  herself  and  for  Paul's 
mother  by  a  mutual  friend.  In  short,  it  is  the  cus- 
tom in  France  for  parents  and  friends  to  arrange 
marriages,  and  some  people  contend  that  such  a 
system  is  preferable  to  that  of  letting  young  people 
choose  for  themselves.  Madame  Saincere  did  not 
precisely  empower  Madame  Flot  to  find  a  husband 
for  Regina,  but  the  two  ladies  talked  the  matter 
over,  and  shortly  after  Madame  Flot  proposed  the 
"  adjoint"  of  the  Mayor  of  Quimper  Carention.  "  No, 
no;  a  thousand  times  no,"  returned  the  Parisian 
lady.  "  A  girl  brought  up  in  Paris  could  never  live  in 
Quimper  Carention — as  well  send  her  to  Cayenne." 

A  brief  correspondence  on  the  necessity  of  taking 
into  consideration  Mademoiselle  Kolopoeus's  mar- 
riage  ensued  between   Madame   Saincere   and  the 


FRENCH   PRECAUTION.  35 

Comte  and  Comtesse  <le  Rochetaillee.  Always  the 
same  refusal  to  interfere  actively  in  behalf  of  their 
granddaughter;  always  the  same  assurance  that 
whatever  Madame  Saincere  thought  fitting  would 
meet  with  their  approbation. 

Regina  had,  as  a  matter  of  course,  been  often  men- 
tioned in  the  letters  between  Madame  Saincere  and 
Madame  Latour  de  la  Mothe,  and,  truth  to  say, 
Paul's  mother  had  begun  to  have  misgivings  as  to 
the  advisability  of  the  propinquity  of  her  son  and 
her  sister's  protegee.  Though  Madame  Latour  was 
in  despair  about  Paul's  unfortunate  attachment, 
though,  as  she  herself  expressed  it,  she  longed  after 
a  grandchild  as  she  did  after  Paradise,  she  could  not 
put  up  with  anything  short  of  immaculate  genealogy 
on  her  dautditer-indaw's  side.  Now  the  child  of  a 
runaway  match  between  a  noble  and  a  gipsy  did  not 
at  all  meet  Madame  Latour's  views.  "  Violent  pas- 
sions are  hereditary,"  thought  she,  "  aud  nothing  so 
hurtful  in  marriage  as  passion."  When,  therefore, 
Madame  Saincere  consulted  her  as  to  a  husband  for 
Regina,  Madame  Latour  de  la  Mothe  at  once  took 
the  field,  and  presently  wrote  thus : 

"  I  have  an  eligible  person  in  my  eye — one  who 
was  at  the  Lycee  with  Paul — he  is  a  redacteur  in  the 
Administration  des  Ilypotheques  here  ;  there  is  also 
a  young  officer,  at  this  moment  in  Algiers,  the 
nephew  of  Mademoiselle  Pagores.  She  thinks  he 
would  be  glad  to  marry  if  he  found  a  suitable  dowry. 
But  I  should  rather  advise  Charles  Gerard:  Paul 
can  tell  you  what  he  was  as  a  boy.     If  you  entertain 


36  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

an  idea  that  he  would  answer,  send  Mademoiselle 
Nolopceus  to  me  that  they  may  see  one  another — 
Gerard  cannot  get  leave  at  present  to  go  to  Paris." 

Madame  Saincere  asked  Paid  about  the  redacteur. 

"  He  is  a  good  sort  of  fellow  enough,"  he  answered ; 
*'not  overburdened  with  talent.  I  think  he  would 
be  kind  to  his  wife.  I  have  a  faint  idea  that  he  is 
fond  of  his  gun." 

Regina  was  sent  for  from  Passy.  When  told  that 
Madame  Latour  had  invited  her  to  Juvigny  for 
change  of  air,  the  joy  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  as  she 
turned  them  gratefully  on  Paul,  smote  on  his  heart. 
He  felt  as  though  he  was  taking  a  share  in  a  crime — 
as  if  the  lamb  thanked  the  butcher.  Under  this  new 
impression  he  said  to  Madame  Saincere,  "  Why  be 
in  such  a  hurry  to  marry  her  ? — she  has  plenty  of 
time  before  her.  Do  you  know  she  is  growing 
handsome  ?" 

"  You  forget  that  I  am  growing  old.  She  is  friend- 
less.    What  if  I  were  to  die  ?" 

And  so  Regina  had  some  new  dresses,  and  was 
to  be  sent  off  by  rail  under  the  care  of  Madame  La- 
tour's  milliner,  carrying  back  to  Juvigny  the  Paris 
summer  fashions. 

As  Regina  was  waiting  on  the  platform  while  her 
chaperone  got  the  tickets,  she  was  startled  by  seeing 
Paul  enter  the  station.  He  had  in  his  hand  a  small 
bouquet  of  roses  de  Bengale  and  a  lady's  travelling 
bag.  He  gave  bouquet  and  bag  to  Regina,  saying, 
"  Now  you  look  properly  set  up  for  your  journey. 
Embrace  my  mother  for  me,  and  remember  to  sea 


FRENCH   PRECAUTION.  37 

the  woods — my  beautiful  woods — they  must  be  in 
full  beauty — full  of  periwinkles  and  anemones.  I 
wish  I  were  going  also." 

Regina  had  grown  crimson  with  surprise  and 
pleasure,  but  not  a  word  could  she  articulate.  He 
shook  hands  with  her  as  he  saw  the  modiste  ap- 
proaching. Then  he  spoke  familiarly  with  that  im- 
portant citizeness  of  his  native  place,  as  French  gen- 
tlemen do,  showing  no  recollection  that  he  was  a 
Latour  de  la  Mothe,  and  she  a  Madame  Pouchot. 

The  first  observation  that  the  milliner  made  to 
her  charge  when  they  were  fairly  seated  in  the  rail- 
way carriage  was,  "  To  think  of  such  a  fine  young 
man,  and  of  such  a  good  family,  demeaning  himself 
to  be  a  painter  !" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN    OLD   TOWN. 

Approaching  Juvigny  by  the  road  from  Paris,  your 
eye  is  at  once  attracted  by  a  steep  hill  receding 
from  the  opposite  side  of  a -slowly  flowing  river,  and 
crowned  by  an  old  town,  making  a  mediaeval  show  of 
pointed  gables,  high  roofs,  ancient  towers,  and 
battlemented  walls,  which  wind  about  this  former 
feudal  stronghold,  as  if  still  ready  for  sturdy  service, 
though,  in  fact,  centuries  have  elapsed  since  they 
have  been  mouldering  in  peaceful  disuse. 

This  is  the  Haute  Ville,  bached  by  clumps  of  sec- 
ular trees,  beyond  which  wide  woods  spread.  At 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  in  a  valley  by  the  side  of  the 
river,  is  the  modern  commercial  Basse  Ville.  It  is 
here  that  prosperity  has  taken  up  its  abode,  where 
the  dwellings  of  official  dignitaries  and  wealthy 
burghers  are  to  be  found.  The  Basse  Ville  is  the 
centre  of  trade ;  the  stir  of  life  is  concentrated  there. 
Our  business  lies  in  the  Upper  Town.  Crossing  a 
suburb,  you  begin  to  ascend  by  a  twisting  narrow 
street,  and  soon  find  yourself  in  a  road  that  follows 
the  turns  and  bends  of  one  of  the  walls  already  men- 
tioned, which  brings  you  to  the  Haute  Ville.  In  days 
of  yore  the  trampling  of  men-at-arms  sounded  in  the 
now  silent   streets,  and  the  pageantry  of  a   ducal  m 


AN   OLD   TOWN.  39 

court  animated  these  grim  gray  houses,  that  stare  at 

you  as  if  tbey  wondered  what  you  meant  by  being 
alive. 

First  you  come  to  an  old  tower  with  a  white-faced 
clock,  which  tolls  the  hoars  for  the  work-people, 
calling  them  to  toil  and  giving  the  signal  that  their 
hour  for  rest  is  come ;  further  on  is  a  mysterious,  re- 
pulsive-looking building,  so  blackened  by  age  that 
no  sunshine  can  lighten  its  monotonous  hue.  This 
was  the  castle  of  the  independent  dukes  of  the  prov- 
ince, and  is  now  a  guard-house.  By  this  time  you  have 
reached  the  top  of  the  ascent.  To  your  right  opens 
a  wide  street  of  handsome  stone  houses,  their  peaked 
roofs  pierced  by  dormers.  Many  of  them  have  the 
cornices  of  the  window  sculptured,  together  with 
carved  borders  running  between  each  range  of  win- 
dows; while  others,  of  still  older  date,  have  over- 
hanging beetling;  eaves  and  latticed  windows,  with 
little  octagon  panes  that  but  half  admit  the  light  of 
day.  You  may  look  up  the  street  and  down  the 
street,  many  and  many  a  day,  and  see  no  living 
creature  stirring,  till  at  last  you  begin  to  feel  that 
your  personal  presence  is  an  indiscretion.  By  the 
time  you  have  come  to  the  venerable  church,  a  spell 
not  unpleasant  has  seized  upon  you.  Your  pulses 
beat  slowly  and  calmly.  Life's  fitful  fever  subsides, 
and  you  recall  Leopardi's  weird  chorus  of  the  dead : 

Vivemmo  .  .  .  che  fummo  ? 
Che  lu  quel  pimto  acerbo 
Che  di  vita  ebbe  uome  ? 


40  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

But,  stranger,  there  is  yet  life  in  the  still  town.  Be- 
hind those  white  window-blinds  may  be  young  and 
pretty  eyes  intently  fixed  on  you,  and  curiosity 
wildly  speculating  upon  the  unknown.  \Yhence 
comes  he  ?  Wherefore  comes  he  ?  Which  door  is 
about  to  open  for  him  ? 

And  when  you  do  pass  the  threshold  of  one  of 
those  antiquated  mansions,  the  chances  are  you  will 
find  yourself  among  a  group  formed  of  three  genera- 
tions— assuredly  you  will  meet  with  a  kindly  welcome. 


"  I  see  Madame  Latour  de  la  Mothe  herself  at  the 
door,  waiting  for  you,1'  said  the  milliner  to  Regina, 
as  the  omnibus  entered  the  Grand  Rue.  Regina 
looked  out  eagerly  to  catch  a  sight  of  Paul's 
mother. 

Madame  Latour  was  like  and  unlike  her  sister, 
Madame  Saincere.  The  features  of  both  were  cast 
in  the  same  mould,  but  how  different  the  expression  ! 
That  of  the  Paris  lady  was  lively  and  mobile ;  the 
provincial  dame's  face  was  almost  rigid.  Every 
movement  of  the  first  was  lithe  and  active,  while  the 
other  had  a  stiff,  upright  carriage  :  the  one  was  frank 
and  cheerful,  the  other  grave  and  ceremonious. 
There  was  no  end  to  the  formalities  of  the  welcome 
given  by  Madame  Latour  to  her  young  visitor,  inter- 
spersed, to  be  sure,  by  little  erratic  discussions  with 
the  complaisant  milliner  as  to  the  new  shapes  of 
bonnets. 


AN   OLD   TOWN.  41 

One  of  the  great  differences  between  a  Parisian 
and  a  provincial  woman  is,  that  the  former  purchases 
little  at  a  time,  and  nothing  in  advance,  whereas  the 
latter  lays  in  a  store,  and  is  addicted  to  buying  bar- 
gains ;  and,  as  a  rule,  is  never  exactly  in  the  reign- 
ing fashion.  Her  best  clothes  remain  too  Ions;  in  the 
wardrobe. 

When  Madame  Latour  saw  Regina  without  her 
bonnet,  she  said  to  herself,  "  it  was  strange  neither 
her  sister  nor  her  son  had  ever  mentioned  the  girl's 
rare  beauty."  But  neither  Madame  Saincere  nor 
Paul  had  ever  seen  Regina  looking  as  she  now  did 
in  Madame  Latour's  salon. 

The  bouquet  of  roses,  the  pretty  toy  of  a  travelling 
bag,  Paul's  unexpected  appearance  at  the  station, 
and  his  kindly  parting  words,  had  produced  such  a 
tumult  of  new-born  happiness,  as  had  made  all  Re- 
gina's  young  blood  dance  merrily  in  her  veins.  She 
was  in  that  state  of  feeling  which  transfigures  an 
exterior ;  and  which,  at  rare  moments,  shows  us  what 
a  human  being  really  is.  Madame  Latour  was  seeing 
Regina  in  one  of  these  phases.  The  girl's  eyes 
seemed  to  love  all  they  rested  upon,  from  her  hostess 
down  to  the  most  trivial  object  in  the  room. 

Paul's  paternal  house  was  dull  and  sombre  enough. 
Not  one  of  the  thousand  trifles  which  appear  neces- 
sary to  existence  in  Paris  was  to  be  seen.  A  dozen 
large  armchairs,  and  a  sofa  to  match,  covered  with 
dark  velvet,  a  gueridon  or  oval  table,  a  small  up- 
right piano,  a  square  rug  before  the  sofa,  another 
before  the  fireplace,  a  jardiniere  in  each  window,  a 

4* 


42  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

marble-topped  work-table,  was  all  the  furniture. 
Not  a  book  was  lying  about.  At  Madame  Saincere'3 
every  available  place  was  crowded  with  pamphlets 
and  newspapers;  book-cases  lined  the  walls; — Aere, 
not  a  semblance  of  dust,  the  floors  shining  like  mir- 
rors, the  curtains  as  white  as  snow,  not  quite  free 
from  the  detestable  odor  of  eau  de  javelle ;  while  in 
the  Rue  Blanche  it  must  be  owned  there  was  room 
for  improvement  as  to  dust  and  whiteness.  Madame 
Saincere's  walls  were  hidden  by  pictures,  engravings, 
photographs.  The  only  ornament  on  those  of  Ma- 
dame Latour  de  la  Mothe  was  a  poor  likeness  01 
Paul,  hung  above  the  piano  ;  which,  of  course,  stood 
against  a  wall  in  the  worst  place  for  an  instrument, 
between  a  door  and  a  window.  Even  the  "  Garniture 
de  Cheminee"  was  sombre,  and  yet  the  room  seemed 
a  most  pleasant  place  to  Regina. 

After  she  had  had  some  refreshment,  Madame  La- 
tour  took  her  over  the  house.  It  was  large  enough 
to  accommodate  twenty  people.  It  had  long  broad 
stone  corridors,  a  great  stone  staircase  with  a  finely 
carved  balustrade,  doors  in  curious  angles,  steps  here 
and  steps  there,  a  succession  of  rooms  and  ante- 
rooms, narrow  passages  running  in  and  out  and 
behind  the  rooms,  the  whole  forming  a  tolerable 
labyrinth  for  the  uninitiated. 

"This  is  my  son's  private  room,"  said  Madame 
Latour,  just  unclosing  the  door  of  a  room  on  the 
ground-floor,  with  windows  looking  into  a  well-sized 
garden.  No  lack  of  books  or  pictures  in  Paul's 
sanctum,  but  Madame  Latour  did  not  invite  Regina 


AN  OLD  TOWN.  43 

to  go  in  and  inspect  either.     She  was  jealous  of  her 
right  of  entry. 

The  guest-chamber  allotted  to  Regina  was  exactly- 
over  Paul's  study.  Left  there  to  herself,  the  girl  sat 
down  at  the  open  window,  taking  in  great  breaths  ot 
the  pure  mountain  air.  The  Maison  Latour  stood 
on  the  highest  point  of  the  steep  height  on  which 
the  Haute  Ville  was  built,  and  had  a  view,  from  the 
back  windows,  over  the  new  town  and  of  the  hills 
and  valleys  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Regina's 
enjoyment  at  this  moment  was  purely  physical.  The 
child  of  the  great  city  had  as  yet  no  taste  for  land- 
scape, but  she  felt  that  cheerfulness  of  spirit  which 
the  atmosphere  of  high  regions  imparts.  There  was 
a  small  jet  d'eau  just  below  her  window,  sending  up 
its  slender  crystal  column  almost  to  a  level  with  her 
face.  She  leaned  downward  to  get  sprinkled  by  its 
spray,  saying  aloud,  "  It  is  charming,  charming ;  I 
could  stay  here  forever." 

Then,  with  the  inconstancy  of  her  age,  she  turned 
from  what  had  so  fascinated  her  to  examine  the  room 
she  was  in.  On  the  mantelpiece,  instead  of  a  clock, 
was  a  glass  globe  covering  a  wreath  of  orange- 
flowers,  reposing  on  a  red  velvet  cushion.  Perhaps 
not  many  ladies,  so  well-born  as  Madame  Latour  de 
la  Mothe,  would  thus  exhibit  their  wedding  garland; 
but  with  those  less  elevated  in  position  a  supersti- 
tious care  is  taken  of  this  piece  of  bridal  finery. 

Regina  contemplated  the  faded  flowers  with  a  sort 
of  respect,  and  possibly  wondered  if  it  were  her  des- 
tiny ever  to  place  such  on  her  head.     But  in  truth, 


44  A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 

Regina  was  just  arrived  at  that  particular  era  of  a 
young  girl's  life  when  there  is  au  utter  scorn  for  all 
commonplace  reality,  matrimony  included.  On  the 
occasion  of  a  companion's  marriage,  who  has  not 
overheard  the  bridernaids  wondering  how  "  dear 
Julia  could  take  such  a  man  !"  Could  any  of  those 
young  creatures  draw  with  their  pencil  the  ideal 
created  by  their  imagination,  what  a  curious  individ- 
ual they  would  portray  as  the  one  they  could  take ! 
Three  parts  angelic,  and  one  diabolic. 

Leaving  the  wreath,  Regina  took  to  peeping  into 
the  closets,  with  which  all  the  four  walls  of  the  room 
were  honeycombed.  Accustomed  to  the  want  oi 
space,  which  forms  the  great  discomfort  of  Paris 
apartments,  it  was  with  quite  a  luxurious  sensation 
that  she  laid  out  her  new  dresses  at  full  length,  and 
scattered  the  contents  of  her  trunks  all  through  the 
numerous  receptacles  placed  at  her  service. 

When  she  returned  to  the  salon,  Madame  Latour 
looked  at  her  with  an  uneasy  sort  of  pleasure.  What 
vigorous  coloring  of  the  South  !  what  eyes  !  soft  and 
bright,  full  of  the  shy  wildness  of  a  young  girl — a 
figure,  too,  that  denoted  a  rich  and  powerful  organi- 
zation ;  the  head  firmly  placed  on  a  throat  that  had 
the  fulness  in  the  centre  of  Eastern  women ;  adorably 
shaped  hands  and  feet !  Strange,  very  strange 
that  Paul  should  have  been  so  silent  as  to  such 
beauty ! 

"  Did  you  see  much  of  my  son  in  Paris  ?"  asked 
Madame  Latour. 

"  Every  other  Sunday.     I  go  once  a  fortnight  to 


AN    OLD    TOWN.  45 

Madame  Saincere,  and  Monsieur  Paul  always  dines 
in  the  Rue  Blanche  on  Sundays." 

"  Ah  !  he  is  well  ?" 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  You  don't  think  him  looking  fagged  ?  lie  writes 
me  that  he  works  hard,  and  the  smell  of  oil-paints  is 
ahominable  for  the  health ;  and,  besides,  he  goes  a 
good  deal  into  the  world,  and  the  distances  in  Paris 
are  so  great !" 

"Monsieur  Paul  always  seems  very  well." 

"  How  do  you  amuse  yourself  on  these  Sundays  ?" 

"  A  great  many  people  come  to  see  Madame  Sain- 
cere, and  they  talk  a  great  deal  about  everything.  I 
listen,  for  it  is  very  amusing." 

Madame  Latour  changed  the  conversation.  She 
had  an  unwillingness  to  continue  talking  of  Paul, 
and  yet  there  was  no  other  subject  that  interested 
her.  This  reserve,  however,  was  not  to  last  long. 
She  very  soon  yielded  to  the  pleasure  of  having  a 
listener,  who  seemed  to  be  as  much  interested  to 
be  talked  to  about  Paul,  as  she  was  to  talk  of  him. 
Before  Regina  leaves  Juvigny  she  will  have  been 
made  acquainted  with  eveiy  incident  (save  one)  of 
Paul's  youth.  She  will  know  how  he  had  suffered 
when  cutting  his  teeth  ;  the  doubts  and  dangers 
of  scarlet  fever  and  measles;  his  strange  child's 
sayings — those  sayings  which  sound  to  mothers  so 
like  reminiscences  of  some  former  existence — of  his 
successes  and  failures  at  the  Lycee.  Regina  Mill 
have  been  told  all  these  things,  and  have  become 
the  confidante  of  Madame  Latour's  regret,  that  he 


4G  A   PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

should  have  quitted  the  smooth,  beaten  track  of 
bureaucracy,  for  the  vagabondage  of  an  artist's  life. 

All  that  first  afternoon  Madame  Latour  and  Regi- 
na  passed  in  a  tete-d-tete,  attracted  the  one  to  the 
other  by  the  secret  sympathy  of  a  common  affection. 
Madame  Saincere  would  scarcely  have  believed  her 
senses  had  she  seen  Regina's  winning  ways  with 
Madame  Latour,  or  recognized  those  tender  inflec- 
tions of  voice  as  belonging  to  her  protegee.  Ma- 
dame Saincere  would  have  wondered  also  that  Reed- 
na  could  talk  so  agreeably,  and  give  such  point  to 
her  little  anecdotes.  What  perhaps  would  lave 
struck  Paul's  aunt  more  forcibly  than  it  did  Paul's 
mother,  was  the  way  in  which  Paul's  name  always 
got  mixed  up  with  what  the  young  girl  had  to  say. 

Maternal  love  and  vanity  blinded  and  deafened 
Madame  Latour  to  this  circumstance.  Probably 
not  quite  however,  for,  in  the  silence  of  the  night, 
Madame  Latour  thought  how  best  to  hatch  that 
matrimonial  plot  which  had  been  the  reason  for 
Regina's  visit  to  Juvigny.  Even  while  unable  to 
deny  that  there  would  be  a  comical,  or  perhaps  a 
tragical  disparity  between  Charles  Gerard  and  such 
a  wife,  she  wished  for  the  marriage.  What  she 
wanted  for  Paul  in  matrimony  was  the  same  medi- 
ocrity she  had  desired  in  his  career.  Regina's  beauty 
alarmed  her — it  was  not  an  every-day  prettiness. 
Regina's  birth  was,  however,  what  made  the  girl  so 
distasteful  to  her  as  a  possible  daughter-in-law.  She 
had  the  look  of  a  queen,  or  an  actress — of  anything 
but  of  a  steady  managing  housewife.     Madame  La- 


AN   OLD   TOWN.  47 

tour  quieted  her  conscience  by  saying  to  it  that 
Regina  would  need  a  contrast  in  her  husband  as 
much  as  Paul  did  in  a  wife.  Two  highflyers  could 
never  draw  the  matrimonial  coach  safely  along  the 
road  of  life. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  doesn't  one  see  such  contrasts  every 
day  ?— and  the  household  goes  on  very  well.  Passion 
was  far  better  absent  from  marriage — at  least  before- 
hand :  if  love  came  afterward,  so  much  the  better ; 
if  not,  children  made  up  for  all  that.  Her  own  mar- 
riage had  been  loveless,  and  she  had  done  very  well." 


CHAPTER  V. 

A    SOIREE    IN   THE    OLD   TOWN. 

The  reason  of  Regina's  visit  to  Madame  Latour 
de  la  Mothe  was  Harlequin's  secret,  at  least  in  the 
Ville  Haute.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  in  a  place 
where  such  a  benevolent  spirit  of  inquiry  prevailed 
that  there  was  no  smuggling  into  it  so  much  as  a 
new  bonnet  from  Paris,  unknown  to  your  neighbors  ? 

Regina  was  the  only  one  in  the  dark  as  to  why 
the  De  Lussons  gave  a  soiree,  and  why  she  was  go- 
ing to  it.  She  awoke  without  any  presentiments, 
and  once  certain  she  was  not  at  the  Pass}'  Institu- 
tion, she  ran  to  the  window,  threw  it  open,  and  kissed 
her  hand  to  the  jet  <Peau,  sparkling  in  the  morning 
sun. 

There  is  a  small  Faubourg  St.  Germain  in  the 
Haute  Ville  of  Juvigny — some  half-dozen  Legiti- 
mist families  congregated  there  after  1830.  The 
days  of  July  completed  the  ruin  of  their  families, 
begun  by  the  emigration  of  '92.  From  a  spirit  of 
loyalty  they  have  abstained  from  all  official  employ- 
ments, and  out  of  respect  to  their  blood  they  have 
refrained  from  commerce.  Luckily  their  families  are 
small.  M.  de  Noircourt's  only  child,  a  son,  is  in  the 
Pope's  Nobile  Guardia.  Young  M.  de  Bris  is  an 
officer  in  the  Austrian  army;  M.  de  la  Tourveille 


A   SOIRKE   IN   THE   OLD   TOWN.  49 

has  only  a  daughter.  Jules  de  Lusson  alone  had 
deserted  bis  cause.  Adopting  for  device  that  idle- 
ness is  a  crime  in  a  poor  man,  he  had  entered  a  great 
commercial  house  in  Paris.  The  consternation  in 
the  clique  when  that  event  occurred,  is  not  to  be 
described.  Madame  de  Lusson  lived  more  than 
ever  on  her  knees  in  the  church,  and  M.  de  Lusson 
shut  himself  up  with  his  flute,  which,  during  that 
period,  was  to  be  heard  wailing  through  all  hours 
of  the  night.  This  falling  away  of  a  true  scion  of 
nobility,  was  generally  imputed  by  the  De  Lussons' 
friends  to  Jules'  companionship  with  Paul  Latour, — 
a  companionship  begun  in  childhood,  and  fostered 
by  their  being  next-door  neighbors. 

The  intimacy  of  children,  sooner  or  later,  brings 
about  acquaintance  between  the  parents.  Paul,  ad- 
mitted to  play  with  young  De  Noircourt,  De  la  Tour- 
veille,  and  the  De  Lussons,  led  to  Madame  Latour 
de  la  Mothe,  in  the  course  of  years,  being  accepted 
by  the  noble  clique.  An  occult  sympathy  drew  her 
and  Madame  de  Lusson  together;  they  both  had 
suffered  disappointment  in  their  only  sons,  and  per- 
haps there  was  another  bond  of  union.  A  faint  ru- 
mor had  once  prevailed  that  Isabelle  de  Lusson  had 
— not  loved — no  well-brought-up  French  young  lady 
ever  does  that  without  her  parents1  permission- — well, 
not  loved,  but  shown  a  preference  for  a  bourgeois. 
Isabelle  would  have  been  the  daughter-in-law  after 
Madame  Latour's  heart ;  so  much  so  that  Madame 
Latour  would  have  been  ready  to  make  the  sacrifice 
of  a  dot.     That  hope,  however,  vanished  like  many 

5 


50  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

others  ;  but  the  friendship  between  the  families  com 
tinned  unbroken,  and  it  was  to  Madame  de  Lusson 
that  Madame  Latour  applied  to  help  her  in  her  mat- 
rimonial project  for  Begina. 

It  is  not  a  trifle  for  people  living  the  secluded  life 
of  the  De  Lussons,  to  have  company.  Such  an  event 
had  not  occurred  since  Jules'  departure.  On  the 
day  of  the  eventful  evening,  the  whole  family  were 
on  foot  at  early  dawn  :  the  thing  should  be  done 
handsomely,  as  they  had  to  invite  Charles  Gerard 
and  his  family,  as  well  as  to  ask  some  of  the  other 
bourgeois  who  were  in  the  habit  of  leaving  a  card  on 
them  every  New  Year's  Day. 

You  should  have  seen  on  this  occasion  old  Le- 
peaute,  the  De  Lusson  factotum,  gardener,  cook, 
valet,  housemaid. 

"  I  shall  serve  tea  at  nine,  madame,  as  we  used  to 
do  when  we  were  in  Sweden." 

During  the  last  two  years  of  the  Restoration,  M. 
de  Lusson  had  been  minister  to  the  court  of  Stock- 
holm. 

"  Ah  !  if  we  had  only  some  of  the  same  tea,  Mad- 
ame la  Comtesse,  but  in  this  cursed  little  hole  there 
is  nothing — nothing  good,"  sighed  the  old  man. 
"  Does  madame  intend  to  have  ice  ?" 

"Why,  Lepeaute,  what  are  you  dreaming  of? 
Where  could  you  get  any?" 

"  A  little  from  one  pastry-cook,  and  a  little  from 
another."  Lepeaute  did  not  dare  to  own  that  he 
meant  to  get  some  from  the  hospital  under  the 
plea  that   monsieur   was   ill.      One   thing   he   waa 


A   SOIREE   IN  THE   OLD   TOWN.  51 

resolved  on,  that,  as  the  bourgeois  were  to  be  ad- 
mitted, they  should  see  that  the  nobles  were  as 
well  'monies  as  any  of  their  bankers  and  spinners. 
"  I  can  borrow  the  sabotiere  from  the  prefecture, 
and  no  one  the  wiser,"  he  concluded. 

"Do  as  you  like,  but  don't  bring  us  into  any 
great  expense." 

Lepeaute  collected  all  the  baronial  spoons  be- 
longing to  the  noble  clique,  and  counted  heads 
with  Mademoiselle  Isabelle,  that  there  should  be  a 
sufficiency  of  cups  and  glasses. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  De  Lussons'  door-bell  was 
rung ;  all  the  invited  came  within  half-an-hour 
of  each  other.  Every  one  of  the  guests  had  a  friend- 
ly word  for  Lepeaute ;  and  he  in  return  inquired 
after  their  health,  sometimes  in  a  condescending 
tone — but  that  was  for  the  lower  town.  He  looked 
as  though  made  up  for  a  part  in  a  play :  all  his  wiry 
hay-colored  hair  brushed  straight  up ;  his  face  the 
color  of  burned  bricks,  from  his  recent  exertions  in 
making  the  ice ;  his  stiff,  standing-up  collars  cutting 
his  poor,  big,  red  ears ;  a  black  coat  with  the  but- 
tons between  the  shoulders ;  a  frilled  shirt ;  and  a 
shrunk  white  waistcoat. 

He  complimented  all  the  ladies  whom  he  con- 
sidered "  ladies."  Removing  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Tourveille's  cloak,  he  gave  a  clack  of  his  tongue  ex- 
pressive of  admiration,  whispering,  "The  Parisian 
demoiselle  can't  show  a  complexion  like  mademoi- 
selle's." 

There  was  a  strong  resemblance  among  the  Legit- 


52  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

imists ;  you  would  have  supposed  they  were  all  of 
one  family.  The  women  had  narrow,  oval  faces,  large 
eyes,  small  mouths  en  coeur,  and  aquiline  noses.  The 
men  had  the  retiring  forehead,  the  prominent  eyes — ■ 
in  short,  the  marked  obstinate  type  of  the  Bourbons. 

The  comtesses  were  shabby  enough  :  their  dresses 
had  gone  through  many  a  vicissitude ;  but  they, 
as  well  as  their  husbands,  had  that  indescribable  air 
which  popular  opinion  ascribes  to  a  superior  rank. 
The  young  ladies  De  Lusson  and  De  la  Tourveille, 
in  white  muslin,  would  have  been  considered  elegant 
anywhere.  Associating  only  among  themselves, 
they  had  caught  the  court  air  of  their  mothers. 
The  had  all  of  them  also  a  certain  air  of  languor,  of 
melancholy,  far  from  wanting  in  charm.  They  gave 
you  the  idea  of  exiles.  The  hopeless  monotony  of 
their  lives  had  eaten  away  the  bloom  from  their 
hearts  as  from  their  faces.  They  had  learned  one 
sorrowful  note.  To  every  proposition  the  answer 
was,  "  "What's  the  use  ?"  Why  take  a  walk  into  the 
country  to  hear  the  birds'  spring  song ;  to  see  the 
first  bursting  into  leaf  of  tree  and  bush  ?  "  What's 
the  use  ?" 

M.  de  Lusson  would  try  to  induce  his  second 
daughter  to  practise  the  singing  learned  at  the  con- 
vent.    "  What's  the  use  ?"  and  so  on. 

There  was  only  one  thing  necessary.  They  must 
stitch,  and  stitch,  and  stitch,  or  go  without  clothes. 

Isabelle  and  Lucie,  more  than  pretty  at  eighteen, 
at  eight-and-twenty  had  already  skins  of  the  hue  of 
old  parchment.     They  were   beginning,  too,  to   be 


A   SOIREE   IN   THE   OLD  TOWN.  53 

vigilant  over  their  neighbors'  doings,  seeing  evil 
even  in  innocent  gayety. 

As  for  their  father,  he  had  the  most  provokingly 
prosperous  air  imaginable :  his  face  was  like  a  rising 
sun ;  his  great,  blue  eyes  beamed  with  contentment 
behind  the  crystal  of  his  spectacles ;  his  mouth,  now, 
alas !  sans  teeth,  was  ever  open,  as  though  he  were 
about  to  break  into  song.  His  walk  was  cadenced 
as  to  some  inward  measure.  Shut  M.  de  Lusson  up 
with  his  flute — no  happier  man  in  creation.  He  was 
an  example  of  the  advantages  of  a  hobby.  It  must 
be  owned,  however,  that  it  is  trying  to  three  pining, 
disappointed  women  to  live  with  a  man  always  the 
personification  of  satisfaction  ;  and  it  was  no  wonder 
the  daughters  occasionally  gave  vent  to  their  indig- 
nation. 

"  So  long  as  papa  has  that  horrid  flute,  he  does  not 
care  a  straw  for  our  beintj  buried  alive  as  we  are. 
Indeed,  he  would  not  miss  us  if  we  were  actually 
under  the  ground." 

On  which  the  poor  old  gentleman  would  meekly 
reply— 

"  Your  are  right,  my  dears  ;  I  am  a  great  egotist. 
I  do  forget  everything  once  I  have  my  flute  in  my 
fingers.  I  have  a  mind  to  burn  it  and  all  my  music. 
Lucie,  my  dear,  if  you  would  practise  you  would  be 
a  beautiful  singer." 

"  I  don't  care  to  be  a  beautiful  singer.  What's 
the  use  ?" 

This  kindly  musical  fanatic  was  a  contrast  to  M. 
de  la  Tourveille,  who  passed  his  days  in  smoking 

5* 


54  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

halfpenny    cigars,    perambulating    the   town,    and 
blundering  as  to  what  he  had  seen  or  heard. 

M.  de  Bris  was  occupied  from  morning  till  night 
painting  the  coats-of-arms  of  all  his  ancestors. 
Alicie,  his  daughter,  hoped  only  one  thing,  wished 
only  for  one  thing — to  escape  from  the  Haute  Ville 
of  Ju vigil y. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Noircourt  found  their 
occupation  in  religious  observances.  No  one  could 
dress  a  reposoir  or  make  such  moss  garlands  as  Ma- 
dame de  Noircourt.  The  bishop  had  once  mention- 
ed in  his  sermon,  preached  in  the  Haute  Ville,  the 
satisfaction  he  derived  from  these  garlands — proofs 
of  the  piety  for  which  Juvigny  had  always  been  re- 
nowned. 

Madame  de  Noircourt  was  the  most  popular  of 
the  noble  clique.  She  was  a  regular  attendant  on  all 
funerals.  Not  a  De  Profundis  was  chanted  in  St. 
Joseph's  in  which  her  voice  did  not  join.  She  kept 
a  black  alpaca  dress,  against  which  sun  and  rain  had 
in  vain  combined,  for  these  occasions. 

After  the  nobles  came  the  bourgeois.  First  ap- 
peared Charles  Gerard  and  his  mother.  Madame 
Gerard  was  a  nice  fresh-looking  woman,  without  any 
worldly  cares,  except  keeping  her  maids  in  order. 
Her  son  was  short,  thin,  with  a  long  neck,  encircled 
by  a  turned-down  collar,  a  large  nose,  and  a  complex- 
ion which  he  and  his  mother  had  in  vain  tried  to 
ameliorate.  When  he  spoke,  you  understood  that 
his  striking  nose  had  to  answer  for  his  nasal  accent. 
If  the  faintest  of  smiles  crossed   Regina's  lips  as  he 


A  SOIRKE  in  the  old  town.  55 

made  her  a  bow,  not  a  shadow  of  suspicion  entered 
her  mind  that  this  slight  youth  came  there  with  an 
idea  of  asking  her  to  allow  him  to  be  the  lord  and 
master  of  her  destiny.  Before  the  evening  was  over, 
she  certainly  became  aware  that  she  was  undergoing 
his  scrutiny,  but  she  had  not  even  the  grace  to  blush 
when  she  met  his  eye,  so  indifferent  was  she. 

Lepeaute,  giving  a  glance  round  the  salon  to  make 
sure  that  all  the  expected  guests  were  arrived,  made 
a  second  appearance  with  a  tray  of  tea.  As  he 
passed  the  young  ladies,  he  said  in  a  stage  whisper, 
"  Mesdemoiselles,  go  and  bring  the  cakes." 

As  soon  as  the  tea  was  over,  preparations  were 
made  for  a  musical  evening. 

In  F  ranee,  as  in  England,  there  are  found  willing 
and  unwilling  martyrs  to  music,  and  French  young 
ladies  tremble  and  sing  out  of  tune,  and  lose  com- 
mand of  their  fingers  just  as  their  English  sisters  do. 

When  it  came  to  Regina's  turn,  she  came  to  a 
dead-stop  after  the  first  two  bars,  and  it  was  only 
her  vehement  desire  to  please  Madame  Latour  which 
enabled  her  to  make  a  new  start  and  get  to  the  end. 
After  her  trial  was  over,  she  was  able  to  look  about 
her,  and  enjoy  the  novelty  of  being  at  a  party. 

All  at  once,  under  cover  of  some  cadenza  of  M.  de 
Lusson's  flute,  a  lady  addressed  Regina — 

"  You  must  find  Juvigny  very  dull  after  Paris." 
The  voice  was  harsh  and  staccato — not  at  all  one  in 
harmony  with  the  fair  face  of  the  speaker,  for  she 
was  very  fair,  with  luxuriant  golden  hair.  "\\  as 
she  pretty?  that  was  a  question  often  mooted,  and 


56  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

answered  as  often  contradictorily.  Regina,  for  in- 
stance, decided  at  first,  yes — then,  no,  all  through 
the  evening.  Perhaps  the  secret  of  the  charm  which 
she  undoubtedly  possessed,  lay  in  her  power  of  ex- 
citing the  imagination.  One  of  her  admirers  had 
described  her  as  a  charmeuse.  At  this  moment  she 
simply  startled  Regina,  who  said  timidly,  "I  beg 
your  pardon,  did  you  speak  to  me  ?" 

"I  said  that  you  would  find  Juvigny  dull  after 
Paris." 

"  Being  at  school  at  Passy  is  not  living  in  Paris," 
said  Regina,  scarcely  liking  the  tone  in  which  she 
was  addressed. 

"  You  are  then  still  at  school  ?" 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  Are  there  many  girls  as  old  as  you  in  the  school  ?" 

"No,  I  am  one  of  the  eldest." 

All  this  time  the  lady's  eyes  roved  over  Regina's 
person  with  intense  curiosity. 

"  You  know  M.  Paul  Latour,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  very  well,"  returned  Regina,  hastily. 

"  So  do  I ;  he  is  almost  my  oldest  friend ;  we 
played  together  as  children.  I  used  to  live  in  that 
old  house  just  below  Madame  Latour's.  There's 
only  a  year's  difference  in  our  age." 

"  He  looks  much  older  than  you,  but  that's  owing 
to  his  beard,  perhaps,"  observed  Regina. 

"  Is  he  much  at  Madame  Saincere's  ?" 

"  I  dare  say  he  is,  but  I  only  see  him  every  other 
Sunday  when  I  go  home." 

"  You  call  Madame  Saincere's  house  your  home  ?" 


A   SOIREE  IN   THE   OLD   TOWN.  57 

"  Yes,  maclame." 

There  was  a  short  interval  of  silence  while  Madem- 
oiselle Lucie  sang  that  pretty  French  song,  "  Pour- 
quoi?"  popular  in  her  mother's  youth. 

"Oh,  how  sweet!"  exclaimed  Regina.  "I  wish 
she  would  sing  again." 

"Do  you?  her  voice  has  lost  all  its  freshness. 
What  an  old  maid  Isabelle  looks !  Does  Monsieur 
Latour  talk  much  of  Juvigny?" 

"  He  never  scarcely  talks  to  me,  but  he  came  to 
the  station  the  morning  I  was  coming  here,  and  he 
told  me  to  be  sure  and  see  the  woods." 

"  I  don't  imagine  Madame  Latour  is  a  great 
walker.  If  you  like  I  will  call  on  you  to-morrow, 
and  take  you  to  the  Vierge  du  hetreP 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  I  should  be  so  glad,  if  Madame 
Latour  will  allow  me." 

"Very  well.  Expect  me  about  two  o'clock.  My 
name  is  Madame  Aubry." 

Madame  Aubry's  attentions  to  Regina  gave  rise 
to  many  a  significant  smile  and  whisper,  but  their 
conversation  was  stopped  by  a  scream  and  a  crash. 
Lepeaute,  who  had  never  been  known  to  commit  a 
similar  crime  in  his  life,  let  fall  the  tray  with  the  ice 
— cut  his  own  fingers  and  Madame  Latour's  foot. 
The  fact  was  he  had  been  trying  to  overhear  what 
Madame  Gerard  was  saying  to  Madame  Latour,  for 
Lepeaute  knew  as  well  as  every  one  else  why  Mon- 
sieur Charles  Gerard  had  been  asked  to  meet  the 
young  lady  from  Paris. 

"  There's  an  end  of  all  harmony  for  this  evening," 


58  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

sighed  M.  de  Lusson,  and  put  his  flute  back  into  its 
case.  "  How  in  heaven's  name  did  Lepeaute  come 
to  be  so  awkward '?" 

As  they  returned  home,  Regina  told  Madame  La- 
tour  of  Madame  Aubry's  proposal  for  the  morrow, 
adding,  "  Her  face  is  quite  familiar  to  me.  I  can't 
think  where  I  could  have  seen  her  before." 

Madame  Latour  replied,  "  Some  accidental  like- 
ness— for  you  certainly  never  could  have  met  her 
before."  Madame  Latour  made  no  objection  to  the 
walk  to  the  Vierge  clu  hetre.  It  was  convenient  to 
her  that  Regina  should  be  out  of  the  way  on  the 
following  afternoon,  as  Madame  Gerard  had  pro- 
posed to  call  and  have  some  private  conversation  as 
to  their  matrimonial  project. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE    SHADOW    OP    EVIL. 

The  next  day  was  all  sunshine;  the  air  full  of 
the  sound  of  bells,  brought  by  the  gentle  breeze  just 
stirring  the  leaves  of  the  great  elms  of  the  Paquis, 
through  which  Madame  Aubry  and  Regina  were 
passing.  They  turned  to  the  right,  up  a  path  with 
broad  grassy  margins,  dotted  with  tufts  of  wild 
thyme  and  sage,  which,  trod  upon,  sent  forth  whiffs 
of  their  aromatic  perfume.  The  birds  had  done 
singing  for  this  year — their  second  broods  were  out 
in  the  world ;  but  every  now  and  then  a  set  of  gos- 
siping restless  martins  made  sweeping  curves  across 
the  blue  sky,  their  breasts  shining  like  silver  as  they 
glanced  in  the  sunshine  in  their  downward  dive  to 
the  earth. 

"I  must  try  to  know  one  tree  from  another," 
thought  Regina,  and  forthwith  asked  Madame  Aubry 
how  such  and  such  a  tree  was  called. 

Adeline  replied  shortly,  as  a  person  does  who  is 
thinking  how  best  to  broach  some  other  subject. 

Regina  stared  intently  at  the  forked  tails  of  the 
vivacious  birds,  and  picked  a  leaf  that  she  might 
make  sure  of  knowing  a  martin  and  an  elm  again. 

They  had  passed  the  space  between  the  Paquis 
and  the  wood ;  they  were  now  in  the  cloisterdike 


60  A    PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

alley  that  stretches  right  across  from  one  highway 
to  another;  the  thickly  interwoven  branches  over- 
head shut  out  the  sun  ;  but  baffled  there,  the  rays 
penetrated  right  and  left — now  touching  the  bole  of  j 
a  beech,  or  dancing  in  and  out  of  the  small-leaved  * 
periwinkle  which  spreads  so  rich  and  thick  a  carpet 
in  the  woods  of  Juvig-nv. 

"  And  this  tree,  madame  ?"  again  questioned 
Regina. 

"  That— oh  !  that  is  a  lime." 

Madame  Aubry  watched  Regina  gathering  the 
wild-flowers  that  grew  by  the  path.  "Are  you 
studying  botany,  that  you  are  so  taken  up  with  ti'ees 
and  weeds  ?"  she  asked,  in  the  same  dry  staccato 
voice  in  which  she  had  first  addressed  Regina. 

"  Xo,  madame,  but  Monsieur  Paul  advised  me  to 
study  nature." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  Monsieur  Latour  was  pro- 
fessor of  Natural  History  to  a  girl's  school." 

"  He  is  not  a  professor  that  I  know  of;  but  as  I  am 
fond  of  drawing,  he  advised  me  one  day  to  sketch 
from  nature." 

"  He  is  very  kind  to  you  then  ?" 

Regina  hesitated  for  a  minute  before  she  replied. 

"  He  is  always  very  polite  to  every  one :  he  never 
talks  to  me  /  only,  when  he  knew  I  was  coming  here, 
he  spoke  about  my  sketching  and  advised  me  to  go 
to  the  woods." 

"  We  used  to  be  great  friends — playfellows  as  I 
told  you  last  evening.  I  thought  him  altered  for 
the  worse  when  he  came  here  last — giving  himself 


THE   SHADOW   OF  EVIL.  61 

great  airs  —  grown  quite  conceited.  Everybody 
says,  you  know,  that  Isabelle  de  Lusson  was  in  love 
with  him.  And  that  horrid  peaked-beard  of  his,  in 
imitation  of  Vandyke,  does  he  still  wear  it?" 

Regina  said,  "Yes,"  paused,  and  then  spoke  in  de- 
fence of  Madame  Latour's  son. 

"  None  of  Madame  Saincere's  friends  think  him 

conceited,"  said  she.     "  Dr.  M and  all  the  other 

clever  people  who  come  to  Madame  Saincere's  are 
very  fond  of  him." 

"  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  Mademoiselle  Xolo- 
poeus.  I  know  that  Monsieur  Latour  is  held  by 
many  people  to  be  perfection.  Surely  some  one  told 
me  his  aunt  had  found  a  feminine  perfection  to  match 
him  ?" 

"  I  never  heard  that — but  it  may  be  true — for,  of 
course,  I  should  not  be  told  till  everything  was 
settled." 

If  ever  a  lady  was  tempted  to  beat  another, 
Madame  Aubry  was  so  tempted  at  that  moment. 
She  positively  hated  Regina  for  the  cool  way  in 
which  she  agreed  to  the  possibility  of  Paul's  mar- 
riage. It  seemed  as  if  done  on  purpose  to  vex  her. 
And  of  what  was  the  girl  made,  to  live  so  much  in 
his  society  and  yet  remain  so  indifferent  ? 

Adeline  Aubry  had  no  conception  of  the  feeling  of 
discomfort  she  was  giving  Regina  ;  and  just  as  little 
had  Regina  any  insight  into  the  motive  prompting 
every  word  of  her  companion.  If  by  some  sudden 
revelation  Regina  had  learned  that  the  woman  by 
her  side,  wife  and  mother,  loved  Paul  Latour — was 

6 


62  A   TSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

frantically  jealous  of  him,  was  at  that  moment  in 
actual  clandestine  correspondence  with  him,  it  is 
more  than  probable  that  Mademoiselle  Nolopcous 
would  have  committed  that  greatest  of  misdemeanors 
in  a  French  young  lady,  left  her  chaperone  and  re- 
turned alone  to  Madame  Latour.  Regina  was  at 
that  stage  of  life  when  all  the  virtues  and  the  most 
heroic  sacrifices  seem  possible — when  there  is  no  in- 
dulgence for  error.  Regina  innocently  believed  that 
Paul  was  an  object  of  dislike  to  Madame  Aubry,  and 
that,  therefore,  it  woidd  be  better  to  talk  of  some 
one  or  something  else.  By  some  spell  or  other,  how- 
ever, the  conversation  always  got  back  to  Paris. 
Dove  il  dente  duole,  la  lingua  batte,  says  the  subtle 
Italian  proverb. 

When  they  reached  the  end  of  the  walk^  the  shrine 
of  the  Virgin  of  the  beech,  Regina  was  thoroughly 
exhausted. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  my  not  being  accustomed  to  walk- 
ing," she  observed  to  account  for  her  fatigue.  She 
could  not  guess  the  strain  that  want  of  sympathy 
imposes  on  our  every  faculty. 

They  sat  down  on  one  of  the  benches  which  sur- 
round a  patch  of  grass,  from  the  centre  of  which 
rises  a  magnificent  beech.  On  its  smooth,  straight 
stem  is  fastened,  about  five  feet  from  the  ground,  a 
glass  case  containing  diminutive  wax  figures  of  the 
Virgin  and  Child.  Above  and  below  this  shrine, 
round  and  round  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  are  all  kinds 
of  ex-votos,  offerings  of  the  poor,  wedding- wreaths, 
funeral  garlands,  rosaries  of  black  or  white  or  brown 


THE   SHADOW  OF  EVIL.  03 

beads,  small  leaden  crosses,  knots  of  faded  ribbon, 
nosegays — some  withered,  others  freshly  gathered — 
chaplets  of  ivy  and  cypress,  little  framed  pictures  of 
saints. 

"  I  should  like  to  try  and  make  a  sketch  of  this 
place,"  said  Regina ;  "  hut  I  have  not  brought  my 
book.     Have  you  a  scrap  of  paper,  madame  ?" 

"Nothing  that  will  do  for  a  drawing." 

"  It  is  to  copy  that  prayer  nailed  on  the  tree." 

"A  half-mad  woman  wrote  it.  I  suppose  they 
teach  you  to  be  very  devout  at  your  school  ?  It's 
becoming  quite  the  fashion  to  be  pious." 

"Madame  Flot  is  very  particular  about  our  going 
to  mass,"  said  Kegina;  "but  we  don't  fast  much." 

"  Oh,  indeed !"  returned  Madame  Aubry,  with  a 
slight  laugh. 

Another  long  silence,  broken  by  Madame  Aubry's 
asking,  "What  is  the  subject  of  your  thoughts, 
mademoiselle  ?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  meaning  of  some  parts  of 
that  prayer,  wondering  what  the  dangers  of  the 
world  could  be  for  ladies  and  gentlemen.  I  under- 
stand that  jDoor  people  can  be  tempted  to  do  wrong, 
but  not  persons  like  us." 

"  I  am  no  philosopher,"  said  Madame  Aubry. 
"  Pray  how  old  are  you,  mademoiselle  ?" 

"  I  shall  be  eighteen  next  month." 

"  I  should  not  have  guessed  you  to  be  more  than 
sixteen.  At  eighteen  I  was  as  much  a  woman  as  I 
am  now." 

As  she  spoke  thus,  there  came  over  Madame  Aubry 


64  A   PSYCHE    OF   TO-DAY. 

a  startling  perception  of  what  she  really  was  now, 
Her  youth  on  the  wane — a  loveless  wife.  Courted 
and  admired,  not  esteemed,  her  whole  wealth  a  love 
built  too  probably  on  a  foundation  of  sand. 

';  One  of  these  days,"  said  an  inner  voice,  "  he  will 
marry ;  his  mother  will  force  him  to  do  so ;  and  what 
will  become  of  me?" 

She  turned  a  pair  of  fierce  eyes  on  Regina.  "  And 
this  girl  has  her  whole  future  before  her.  She  may 
love,  and  be  loved  in  return.  Ah  !  if  I  could  only 
go  back  a  few  years — stand  again  at  the  dawn  of 
womanhood !" 

How  clearly  the  poor  soul  perceived  the  opportu- 
nities she  had  let  slip  by.  It  was  not  her  love  for 
Paul  that  so  galled  her  spirit ;  that  had  in  it,  as  yet, 
no  wounds  for  her  woman's  pride;  he  held  her  in  a 
reverence  as  sincere  as  that  he  had  for  his  mother. 
It  was,  that  she  felt  she  had  no  right  to  that  rever- 
ence— it  was  his  free  gift,  and  she  winced  as  she 
thought  that  the  hour  might,  nay,  must  come,  when 
he  would  coujde  her  name  with  all  the  ungracious 
things  that  are  said  and  written  of  women  who  love 
as  they  should  not. 

Often,  even  in  these  present  days,  when  no  eye 
was  on  her,  she  paled  and  reddened,  and  shrunk  as 
from  a  cruel  probe,  when  reading  or  hearing  of  sim- 
ilar cases  to  her  own.  She  had  never  had  any 
strength  except  in  the  cause  of  evil. 

Regina's  pure  earnest  eyes  acted  on  her  soul  like 
the  touch  of  Ithuriel's  spear.  She  saw  what  a  weary 
length  of  road  she  had  traversed  since  her  own  un- 


THE   SHADOW   OF   EVIL.  65 

gracious  youth.  All  her  blunders  and  weakness  s 
started  up  before  her.  No  undoing-  what  was  done  ; 
no  going  back,  no  going  back  ! 

The  heart  has  prophetic  warnings.  Madame  Au- 
bry,  from  the  first  moment  of  seeing  Regina,  had 
felt  jealous.  At  this  moment  a  dread,  sharp  as  the 
sudden  fear  of  death,  made  her  thrill  from  head  to 
foot. 

"  "  Never — no,  never  will  I  give  him  up,"  she  said 
half  aloud. 

And  the  sun  shone  brightly  on  her  and  Regina, 
making  every  character  of  the  prayer  against  temp- 
tation more  visible,  gilding  the  ex-votos,  surround- 
ing as  with  a  glory  those  signs  of  human  suffering 
and  human  faith,  and  children  gambolled,  shriek- 
ing with  laughter,  and  none  saw  the  shadow  of  evil 
by  the  side  of  the  woman  and  the  girl. 

6* 


CHAPTER   VII. 


YOUTH    AXD    AGE. 


Madame  Latoue  de  la  Mottie  did  not  immedi- 
ately inform  Regina  that  M.  Charles  Gerard  had 
made  her  a  proposal  of  marriage.  She  first  Avrote 
to  Madame  Saincere  to  inquire  whether  Mademoi- 
selle Xolopoeus  was  to  be  married  under  the  regime 
dotal,  or  that  of  a  commtmcmte  de  Mens.  Madame 
Saincere  replied — "  The  regime  dotal,  certainly." 
M.tdameLatour  wrote  again  to  say  that  the  Gerards 
iu-isted  on  a  communaute  de  Mens :  that  it  was  a 
usual  arrangement  in  their  rank  of  life. 

A  further  delay  ensued  while  Madame  Saincere 
communicated  with  the  Comte  and  Comtesse  de 
Rochetaillee.  It  had  become  absolutely  necessary 
that  they  should  state  what  would  be  Regina's  fu- 
ture heritage — what  they  were  willing  to  give  on 
her  marriage,  and  also  if  they  would  accept  M. 
Charles  Gerard  for  her  husband. 

The  answer  was  in  Madame  de  Rochetaillee's  own 
hand.  Her  consent,  and  that  of. Monsieur  de  Roche- 
taillee, would  be  given  to  any  one  approved  of  by 
Madame  Saincere.  Regina's  le^al  inheritance  was 
a  hundred  thousand  francs  (4, 0007.)  In  the  event 
of   her   marrying,  the   half  of  that  sum  should  be 


YOUTH   AND  AGE.  67 

advanced.     Not  a  word  of  interest  added  for  their 
granddaughter. 

Upon  this,  Madame  Saincfere  begged  Madame  La- 
tour,  before  agreeing  to  the  Gerards'  conditions,  to 
ascertain  if  Regina  was  well  disposed  toward  the 
match  ;  there  was  no  necessity  for  forcing  her  in- 
clinations ;  young  men  in  search  of  a  dot  were  plen- 
tiful. 

When  it  actually  came  to  the  point  of  broaching 
the  subject  to  the  young  girl,  Madame  Latour  was 
astonished  to  discover  in  herself  a  repugnance  to  the 
task.  And  yet  it  must  be  done,  for  the  Gerards 
were  impatient  for  an  answer,  as  failing  Regina, 
they  had  another  person  in  view. 

Some  evenings  after  the  walk  to  the  Vierge  du 
JiCtre,  the  lady  and  her  guest  were  seated  on  the  ter- 
race, in  the  garden.  The  sun,  a  great  ball  of  fire, 
seemed  balancing  itself  on  the  top  of  the  opposite 
hill :  its  last  crimson  rays  came  streaming  across  the 
purple  woods,  enveloping  Regina's  whole  figure  in  a 
misty  radiance.  A  sweet  joy  lit  up  her  face.  Not 
a  flaw  in  the  smooth  clear  skin — the  cheeks  of  the 
color  of  the  sunny  side  of  a  ripe  peach.  The  large 
dark  eyes,  full  of  a  daughter's  love,  were  raised  to 
Madame  Latour. 

Regina  was  talking  with  great  animation  in  an- 
swer  to  some  remark  of  Madame  Latour's  : — "  Oh, 
yes,  I  mean  to  try  and  write  a  book  some  day.  Alex- 
ander the  Great  interests  me  more  than  Charlemagne. 
I  am  sure  he  would  be  a  capital  hero  for  a  romance. 
So  young,  and  brave,  and  handsome  !" 


68  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

How  was  Madame  Latour  to  offer  Charles  Gerard 
to  a  young  lady  whose  ideal  at  that  instant  was 
Alexander  of  Macedon  ? 

"  Very  well,  as  yon  say,  for  a  romance,  my  dear ; 
but  my  experience  has  taught  me  that  happiness 
is  much  more  likely  to  be  had  with  common-place 
people  than  with  heroes,  or  indeed  with  men  cele- 
brated in  any  way.  Every  one  who  knows  anything 
of  life,  Regina,  will  tell  you  that  great  warriors,  or 
gi'eat  poets  or  painters,  make  the  worst  husbands. 
Women  who  mean  to  be  happy,  should  avoid  any- 
thing like  genius.  Napoleon  or  Goethe  were  never 
meant  to  be  husbands.  No,  no,  my  dear.  Glory 
and  fame  are  terrible  rivals  to  a  wife." 

Regina  said — 

"  Still  it  must  be  delightful  to  be  proud  of  a  hus- 
band :  to  see  him  looked  up  to,  and  to  hear  him 
praised." 

"  And  if  this  paragon  should  hold  you  as  nothing  ?" 

"  He  could  not  prevent  my  belonging  to  him,  and 
being  glad  to  serve  him.  It  must  be  such  a  happi- 
ness to  do  something  for  those  one  cares  for." 

"My  poor  child,  you  know  nothing  about  the 
matter:  that  sort  of  love  is  good  between  mother 
and  infant." 

"  I  am  nothing  to  you,  and  yet  I  am  so  happy  to 
be  with  you !"  was  the  reply. 

Madame  Latour  winced,  and  then  a  suspicion  seized 
on  her.  She  had  been  more  than  once  loved  by 
young  ladies  for  Paul's  sake.  She  turned  her  eyes 
from  the  loving  face  before  her,  and  answered — 


YOUTH  AND  AGE.  G9 

"Reality  is  so  different  from  what  you  imagine, 
Regina.     My  dear,  I  wish  you  would  believe  me." 

Regina's  eyes  fastened  on  those  of  Madame  La- 
tour  with  an  expression  of  anxiety. 

"My  dear" — and  the  lady's  voice  became  very 
persuasive — "  My  dear,  do  believe  me.  JYb  man  is 
worth  any  sacrifice." 

The  rich  color  in  Regina's  cheeks  paled.  She 
said — 

"  I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  of  my  father  and 
mother.  I  never  have  to  any  one  since  they  died." 
Her  voice  was  husky,  and  she  put  her  hand  to  her 
throat  as  if  something  pained  her. 

Madame  Latour,  with  a  sudden  softening  of  the 
heart,  stooped  forward  and  kissed  Regina.  The 
girl,  holding  the  lady's  face  close  to  her  own,  whis- 
pered— 

"  My  mother,  when  she  was  near  dying,  told  me 
never  to  forget  that  my  father  had  made  her  very 
happy :  that  she  had  never  once  been  sorry  for  beino- 
his  wife ;  and  1  know  now  that  my  mother  gave  up 
a  great  deal  for  his  sake." 

That  evening  there  was  no  talk  of  Monsieur  Charles 
Gerard.  Madame  Latour  determined  to  choose  the 
midday  hours  for  announcing  his  proposal.  Sunsets 
were  too  suggestive  of  heroes  of  romance. 

The  next  morning  she  told  Regina,  in  a  dry  matter- 
of-fact  manner,  that  Monsieur  Charles  Gerard,  one 
of  the  young  gentlemen  that  she  had  met  at  Madame 
de  Lusson's  soiree,  had  made  her  a  proposal  of  mar- 
riage. 


70  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  Why  for  me  ?"  asked  the  amazed  Regina. 

"  Because  he  admires  you.  Listen  patiently  to 
me  for  five  minutes.  He  is  a  young  man  of  good 
family;  his  mother  has  brought  Mm  up  admirably 
he  is  fond  of  reading  ;  is  exceedingly  well-bred  ;  hat 
no  brothers  or  sisters.  His  income  and  yours  would 
give  you  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year — affluence 
in  Juvigny.  By-and-by,  between  the  increase  of 
salary  which  his  advancement  insures,  and  your  in- 
heritance and  his,  you  will  be  extremely  well  ofi",  and 
able  to  live  in  Paris.  He  is  an  amiable,  steady  young 
man.  No  one  knows  that  better  than  Paul.  Ma- 
dame Saincere  writes  me,  that  your  grandparents 
would  approve  of  the  match." 

"  Oh,  maclame !"  exclaimed  Pegina,  clasping  her 
hands,  "  I  am  not  obliged  to  marry  him,  am  I  ?" 

"  No — certainly,  but  I  advise  you  to  reflect  before 
you  refuse  him.  My  dear  Pegina,  there  are  some 
disadvantages  on  your  side — not  your  fault,  my  poor 
child, — but  your  mother's  mesalliance,  and  the  per- 
sistency of  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Pochetaillee 
in  not  acknowledging  you,  may  make  many  persons 
object  to  receiving  you  into  their  family.  It  would 
be  such  a  comfort  to  all  your  friends  to  have  you 
settled.  You  must  marry  some  day,  and  you  may 
never  have  so  good  an  offer.  You  would  be  near  me 
also  ;  not  entirely  among  strangers." 

"  Is  Monsieur  Gerard  really  a  friend  of  M.  Paul's  ?" 

"Yes;  Paul  likes  him  very  much.  They  were  at 
the  Lycee  together.     Take  till  to-morrow  to  think 


YOUTH   AND   AGE.  71 

the  matter  over."  And  Madame  Latour  patted 
Regina  on  the  back,  and  smiled  on  her  encourag- 
ingly. 

It  is  a  fact  that  Madame  Latour  had  become  quite 
anxious  for  this  marriage ;  a  good  many  small  causes 
had  contributed  to  make  her  so.  First,  the  unde- 
fined fear  that  Regina  might  attract  Paul.  She  was 
not  the  wife  for  such  as  Paid.  She  was  too  excita- 
ble, too  passionate,  too  little  of  a  bourgeoise — gipsy 
blood  and  noble  blood  were  too  evident  in  her ;  and, 
in  addition,  the  lady  was  unwilling  to  fail  in  what 
she  had  undertaken.  Lastly,  she  truly  considered  it 
an  eligible  marriage  for  the  girl. 

Regina  did  reflect  a  little  on  the  matter.  Her 
first  impulse  had  been  to  give  an  unconditional 
negative;  then  she  was  seized  by  a  dread  of  being 
separated  from  the  only  friends  she  could  boast  of, 
for  had  not  Madame  Latour  declared  that  she  must 
marry  some  day  ?  Now  if  she  accepted  M.  Charles 
Gerard,  she  should  be  near  to  Madame  Latour,  and 
sure  of  sometimes  seeing  M.  Paul.  That  certainly 
Avas  an  inducement,  and  she  lost  herself  for  a  little 
in  a  reverie  about  M.  Paul's  coming  to  see  her.  But 
the  next  morning  it  appeared  that  even  the  pleasure 
of  M.  Paul's  expected  visits  had  failed  to  reconcile 
her  to  the  reality  of  being  M.  Gerard's  wife,  for  she 
told  Madame  Latour  that  she  had  tried  very  hard  to 
make  up  her  mind  to  marry  him,  but  she  could  not. 
She  was  so  sorry  to  "disappoint  madamc."  She 
hoped  "  madame  would  not  be  angry  with  her." 


72  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  be  angry,"  said  Madame  La- 
tour,  "but  I  regret  your  decision;  I  feel  that  you 
are  throwing  away  an  excellent  chance  of  happi- 
ness." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  madame,  but  indeed  I  cannot 
take  him ;  I  do  not  like  him  at  all,  he  is  so  little,  and 
so  very  ugly."  Regina  said  this  with  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  husbands  were  chosen  by 
measurement,"  was  the  vexed  reply. 

It  was,  however,  useless  to  argue  the  matter  fui*- 
ther,  and  when  Madame  Latour  wrote  to  inform 
Madame  Saincere  of  Mademoiselle  Nolopceus's  re- 
fusal of  Monsieur  Charles  Gerard,  Paul's  mother 
could  not  help  expressing  a  fear  that  Regina  had 
inherited  her  mother's  romantic  nature. 

Madame  Saincere,  in  reply,  took  a  more  liberal 
view  of  Regina's  conduct.  She  said  that  she  thought 
the  refusal  indicated  delicacy  of  feeling.  So  many 
girls  of  seventeen  were  ready  to  marry  any  one,  in 
order  to  have  the  power  of  doing  as  they  pleased, 
and  of  being  called  Madame;  whereas  Regina  was 
quite  aware  that  in  refusing  M.  Gerard  she  would 
have  to  return  to  school  and  school  discipline.  Re- 
gina had  better  be  sent  back  to  Paris  as  soon  as  a 
suitable  opportunity  occurred. 

Regina  was  very  low-spirited  at  the  idea  of  leav- 
ing Juvigny.  This  puzzled  Madame  Aubry,  to 
whom  she  paid  a  parting  visit. 

"  You  must  be  delighted  to  go  back  to  Paris  ?" 
said  Madame  Aubry  in  her  driest  voice. 


YOUTH  AND   AGE.  73 

"No;  I  am  very,  very  sorry  to  leave  Juvigny.  I 
have  never  been  so  happy  in  my  life  as  here." 

"I  shouldn't  have  thought  your  hostess  a  very 
lively  companion,"  said  Adeline,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  It  has  never  been  the  least  dull.  It  has  seemed 
like  home." 

"  And  your  drawings ;  the  sketches  you  were  to 
do  for  M.  Latour  ?" 

"  I  was  not  to  do  them  for  him — it  was  to  teach 
myself." 

"I  suppose  you  will  show  them  to  him?" 

"  If  he  asks  me,  but  I  dare  say  he  will  not." 

"Well,  if  he  inquires  how  we  get  on  here  with- 
out the  light  of  his  countenance,  be  sure  and  tell 
him  we  thrive  tolerably,  and  that  the  sun  warms  and 
the  moon  shines  just  as  they  did  in  days  of  yore." 

Regina's  heart  was  very  full  when  she  took  leave 
of  Madame  Latour.  It  was  at  the  station.  In 
France  friends  are  not  allowed  to  accompany  you 
to  the  carriages. 

"You  are  sure  you  have  your  ticket  safe,  and 
your  keys  ?" 

"Yes,  madame;  I  will  not  detain  you  longer.  I 
will  go  to  the  waiting-room."  Regina  received  Mad- 
ame Latour's  parting  kiss  in  silence,  and  disappeared 
into  the  salle  cfattente. 

Madame  Latour  was  already  in  the  outer  court  of 
the  station  when  she  heard  some  one  running  be- 
hind her.     It  was  Regina. 

"  Oh,  madame  !  forgive  me." 

"  My  dear  girl,  you  will  miss  the  train !" 


7-1  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

Retina's  arms  were  round  Madame  Latour's  neck. 
"  Love  me  a  little,"  she  whispered. 

"I  do  love  you  a  great  deal." 

"  Pauvre  petite  —  a-t-elle  du  cceur  fn  muttered  a 
peasaut-woman  who  saw  this  scene. 


CHAPTER   YIII. 

BREAKERS  AHEAD. 

Regina  found  that  her  terrors  as  to  Madame  Sain- 
cere's  displeasure,  or  that  of  M.  Paul,  on  account  of 
her  rejection  of  Charles  Gerard  were  quite  imagi- 
nary. She  had  expected  to  be  questioned  and  lec- 
tured by  the  one,  and  that  the  other  would  view  her 
with  angry  eyes;  and  neither  the  one  thing  nor  the 
other  happened.  It  was  her  first  lesson  as  to  how 
we  exaggerate  our  own  importance.  She  never  even 
found  a  favorable  opportunity  for  giving  Madame 
Aubry's  message  to  M.  Latour.  As  for  her  sketches, 
he  had  clearly  forgotten  that  he  had  ever  advised 
her  to  draw. 

Paul  Latour  at  that  particular  moment  was  en- 
gaged in  a  sharp  correspondence  with  an  angry 
woman.  The  sight  of  Regina  had  filled  Angeline 
Aubrv  with  distrust  and  fears,  and  she  wrote  Paul 
letters,  such  as  only  jealous  and  violent  women  can 
write.  It  was,  of  course,  useless  for  him  to  protest 
that  he  was  utterly  indifferent  to  Regina — that  if 
she  were  beautiful  he  had  never  perceived  that  she 
was  so — that  he  took  no  interest  in  the  girl ;  and, 
in  fact,  that  he  should  be  glad  of  any  circumstance 
which  should  deliver  Madame  Saincere  from  any 
further  charge  of  her. 

Madame  Aubry  put  faith  in  his  protestations  for 


76  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

half  a  clay ;  but  by  night-time  her  suspicion  had 
raised  its  hydra  head,  hissing  horrible  doubts  of  his 
truth  into  her  excited  brain.  Once  she  wrote  him 
that  she  had  prayed — fervently  prayed — that  he 
might  take  the  small-pox  and  be  rendered  hateful 
to  the  sight  of  every  woman  but  herself.  The  fol- 
lowing post  brought  him  a  recantation  and  a  pa- 
thetic prayer  for  forgiveness.  He  was  free— he  must 
do  whatever  he  thought  most  conducive  to  his  hap- 
piness— if  to  marry  and  forget  her  would  be  best 
for  him,  so  let  it  be.  Another  day  there  came  a  wild 
incoherent  rhapsody,  imploring  him  to  do  anything 
and  everything  but  marry.  She  could  endure  any 
suffering  rather  than  that  of  knowing  another  wo- 
man had  a  right  over  him — it  would  kill  her.  These 
letters  were  written  during  the  first  week  after  Re- 
gina's  return  to  the  Rue  Blanche.  It  was  clear  that 
Paul  still  loved  Adeline,  for  he  was  neither  angry 
nor  annoyed  by  her  letters. 

At  the  end  of  eight  days  Adeline  came  to  Paris. 
She  went  to  the  house  of  some  friend  as  silly  as 
herself,  and  there  ensued  a  series  of  stormy  inter- 
views and  passionate  scenes.  No  wonder  Paul  for- 
got to  inquire  into  Regina's  progress  in  drawing. 

Quite  as  angry,  if  not  so  vehement  as  those  of 
Madame  Aubry,  were  the  letters  his  mother  now 
sent  him.  She  assured  him  that  Monsieur  Aubry 
was  the  only  person  in  Juvigny  ignorant  that  there 
was  a  correspondence  kept  up  between  him  and 
Madame  Aubry — the  only  one  unsuspicious  of  the 
motive  of  Madame  Aubry's  visit  to  Paris. 


BREAKERS   AHEAD.  77 

Madame  Latour  recapitulated,  with  all  the  fervor 
of  a  mother  alarmed  for  the  safety  of  her  son,  the 
dangers  of  the  position.  "Madame  Aubry  was  so 
flighty,  so  careless,  so  daring — it  needed  but  one  of 
her  customary  imprudences,  and  M.  Aubry  would  be 
as  well  informed  as  his  neighbors  of  what  was  <roino- 
on.  Paul  must  remember  that  the  carrying  on  of  a 
clandestine  correspondence  with  another  man's  wife 
was  punishable  by  law.  It  would  be  his  mother's 
death-blow  to  have  him  dragged  into  a  court  of  jus- 
tice for  an  offence  of  such  a  nature." 

Naturally,  Madame  Latour  wrote  to  Madame  Sain- 
cere to  use  her  influence  with  Paul. 

Madame  Saincere  was  nothing  loth  (what  woman 
ever  is  ?)  to  give  advice.  Paul,  on  his  side,  irritated 
and  excited  by  the  two  angry  women  he  had  to  con- 
tend with,  and  something  uneasy  also,  was  not  sorry 
to  talk  the  matter  over  with  a  kindly  woman  of  the 
world,  interested,  and  yet  not  too  much  interested 
in  him.  No  friend  so  agreeable  for  a  man  as  a  clever 
good  woman,  who  has  renounced  all  pretensions  to 
youth. 

Madame  Saincere  had  seen  too  much — known  too 
much — to  fall  into  common-place  abuse  of  Madame 
Aubry.  She  never  once  said — "She  ought  not;" 
on  the  contrary,  she  spoke  mercifully  of  the  woman 
— severely  of  the  man.  "  Whatever  a  man  sutlers," 
she  said  to  Paul,  "the  woman  is  always  the  real 
victim ;  it  is  she  alone  whom  the  laws  of  society 
visit  severely — have  mercy  on  her,  Paul !  After  all, 
you  cannot  with  truth  call  yourself  unhappy;  you 


78  A   PSYCHE    OF   TO-DAY. 

eat,  drink,  sleep,  enjoy  music,  books,  the  theatre, 
tolerably  well  without  her;  it  will  be  downright 
egotism  in  you  to  lead  this  poor  thing  to  destruc- 
tion." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  I  have  done  my  best  to 
make  her  understand  the  perils  of  her  position.  Not 
a  morning  for  the  last  month  that  I  have  not  awoke 
with  the  presentiment  of  some  horrid  catastrophe." 

"  I  will  go  to  Juvigny  and  see  her,"  said  his  aunt. 

Paul  grew  very  red. 

"  She  is  here  in  Paris." 

"  That  makes  it  easier  for  me,"  replied  Madame 
Saincere,  quietly.  "  Find  an  opportunity  of  telling 
her  that  I  am  going  to  pay  her  a  visit.  It  will  look 
as  if  all  was  right,  if  your  aunt  goes  to  see  her." 

When  Madame  Saincere  saw  Adeline  Aubry  she 
ceased  to  wonder  at  what  her  sister  called  Paul's  in- 
fatuation. " Jolie  comme  un  demon"  she  said  to 
herself,  as  the  fair  sylph-like  figure  came  forward  to 
meet  her.  Madame  Saincere  had  expected  coldness, 
reserve,  sulkiness,  anything  but  to  find  the  arms  of 
this  dainty  creature  round  her  neck — and  she  had 
kissed  the  cheek  presented  to  her  before  she  well 
knew  what  she  was  about.  They  sat  down,  Ade- 
line's hand  clasping  that  of  Paul's  aunt. 

"  Don't  scold  me,"  began  Madame  Aubry,  with  a 
sweet  mutinous  pout.  She  wished  to  charm  Madame 
Saincere.  "  I  confess  I  am  wrong,  very  wrong  now  ; 
but  it  was  not  wrong,  you  know,  ten  years  ago." 

"Ten  years!"  repeated  Madame  Saincere,  "why 
you  don't  look  more  than  twenty." 


BBEAKEKS   AHEAD-  79 

"  I  am  twenty-eight.  lie  is  always  calling  him- 
self old;  not  very  polite  when  he  knows  I  am  only 
one  year  younger  than  him.  I  suppose  he  means  me 
to  understand  that  he  thinks  me  old." 

Madame  Saincere,  who  had  taken  quite  a  tragical 
view  of  Adeline's  situation,  who  was  prepared  for 
tears  and  lamentations,  was  disconcerted  by  the 
lightness  of  this  speech.  It  might  have  been  made 
by  some  foolish  girl,  not  by  a  woman  who,  had  she 
possessed  either  sense  or  feeling,  could  not  have 
spoken  with  such  sans-fapon  of  Paul  and  herself. 

"  And  yet  she  has  not  the  look  of  a  fool,"  thought 
Madame  Saincere,  seeking  how  best  to  introduce 
what  she  had  sought  the  interview  to  say. 

"  I  see  by  your  face  you  think  ill  of  me,"  said  Ad- 
eline, suddenly. 

Madame  Saincere  seized  the  ball  thrown  to  her. 
— "  Honestly,  I  disapprove  of  you  ;  it  wTas  not,  how- 
ever, merely  to  tell  you  disagreeable  truths  that  I 
am  here.  If  I  knew  nothing  else  than  what  scandal 
says,  I  should  certainly  not  have  come  to  see  you; 
but  I  have  been  told  what  gives  me  an  interest  in 
you.  I  am  aware  that  you  are  without  any  real 
friend,  surrounded  by  foolish  companions  who,  either 
from  idleness  or  love  of  mischief,  would  push  you 
over  the  precipice,  on  the  edge  of  which  you  are 
standing." 

Adeline  changed  color  rapidly,  and  said,  in  her 
sharpest  staccato  voice,  "  I  have  done  nothing 
wrong." 

Madame  Saincere  said,  "  Your  corresponding  with 


80  A   PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

my  nephew  is  wrong.     Do  you  never  think  of  the 
possibility  of  a  discovery  ?" 

"  I  take  care  of  that ;  I  always  receive  his  letters 
myself." 

"And  the  postman,  of  course,  observes  that  you 
do  so.  Let  me  tell  you  that  wrong-doing  always 
betrays  itself.  Your  husband  possibly  may  never 
find  out  all  that  is  going  on ;  he  must  nevertheless 
have  some  vague  suspicions." 

"  Xot  my  husband,"  said  Adeline,  shortly. 

"  Then  he  is  full  of  confidence  in  you,"  went  on 
Madame  Saincere.  "  Passion,  I  know,  is  without 
conscience,  so  I  will  not  appeal  to  your  conscience. 
But  has  no  one  else  ever  spoken  to  you  about  Paul  ?" 

"  My  mother-in-law  once  scolded  me  about  him." 

"Ah!  then  she  at  all  events  has  suspicions;  she 
may  look  in  your  desk  or  your  work-table  any  day, 
for,  I  lay  my  life,  his  letters  are  in  the  unsafeSt  place. 
Since  Eve  ate  that  unlucky  apple,  nothing  has  caused 
more  evil  in  the  world  than  scribbling.  My  dear, 
you  must  give  up  this  correspondence." 

Adeline  shook  her  head. 

"  What's  the  use  of  it  ?"  asked  Madame  Saincere. 

"  It  gives  me  emotions." 

Madame  Saincere  lost  patience.  "  And  you  risk 
the  lives  of  two  men — you  forget  your  children's 
welfare — and  all  for  the  sake  of  having  emotions!" 

Adeline  sat  silent. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  despise  you,"  went 
on  Madame  Saincere,  her  blue  eyes  flashing,  and  her 
voice  rising.     "And  you  call  that  love  !     Oh!  Ma- 


BREAKERS    AHEAD.  81 

dame  Aubry,  I  have  more  respect  for  those  unfortu- 
nate creatures  who  ply  their  unholy  trade  to  gain 
their  bread,  than  for  women  like  you,  who  play  kit- 
ten-like with  men,  for  the  sake  of  having  emotions."1 
Adeline's  face  was  turned  toward  the  speaker, 
her  eyes  dilated  and  her  lips  apart.  There  was  a 
look  of  fear  mingling  with  some  other  feeling — was 
it  hatred  or  cruelty  ?  was  there  an  instinctive  wish 
for  revenge  ? 

Presently  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  am  not  the 
least  offended  at  what  you  say.  Do  you  suppose 
you  would  have  had  the  opportunity  of  lecturing  me 
to-day  about  these  letters,  if  Paul  had  had  the  same 
love  for  me  I  have  for  him  ?  He  says,  and  I  say,  his 
mother  prevented  his  marrying  me  ;  it  was  not  so. 
He  had  told  me  he  loved  me ;  and  I  had  told  him  1 
loved  him.  He  had  only  to  have  said,  'Wait,'  and 
I  would  have  waited ;  but  he  wrote  me  a  long  rig- 
marole, half  lamentation,  half  sorrow,  but  the  main 
point  was — to  give  me  up.  I  was  so  stung,  that  I 
married.  It  was  no  use  ;  I  could  not  get  rid  of  my 
love  for  him.  I  heard  that  he  had  forgotten  me,  and 
yet  I  loved  him.  Then  he  came  back  to  Juvigny, 
and  we  met — not  by  my  will,  by  accident.  One  day 
he  even  bid  me  be  on  my  guard  against  him." 
"He  did  what  was  right." 

"  If  he  really  loved  me,  he  ought  to  accept  the 
responsibility.  Do  you  think  I  should  care  what  I 
suffered  for  him  ?  I  love  him  in  spite  of  being  aware 
that  he  is  quite  capable  of  calculating  the  conse- 
quences of  his  actions.     My  dear  madame,  Paul  can 

6 


82  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

take  very  good  care  of  himself;  he  will  never  write 
a  word  that  can  compromise  him,  even  were  M. 
Aubry  an  Othello." 

"  Yon  silly,  silly  woman  !"  said  Madame  Saincere ; 
"yon  ought  to  offer  up  a  thanksgiving  night  and 
morning  for  Paul's  unselfishness.  Have  you  lived  all 
these  years  without  using  your  eyes  and  ears  ?  Are 
you  nearly  thirty,  and  been  mixing  with  men  and 
women  for  the  last  ten  years,  and  not  observed  that 
all  passion  dies  out  of  itself,  that  there  is  no  wild 
beast  so  cruel  as  a  man  cannot  help  being  to  the 
woman  who  has  sacrificed  herself  to  him,  and  whom 
he  has  ceased  to  love  ?  Women,  in  their  relations 
with  men,  require  the  support  of  society ;  put  your- 
self beyond  its  pale,  and  being  passed  under  saws 
and  harrows  of  iron,  is  nothing  to  the  tortures  you 
you  will  have  to  endure." 

Adeline  would  have  been  a  shining  exception 
among  young  women,  had  she  been  convinced  by 
Madame  Saincere's  words.  That  she  was  not,  her 
reply  showed : — "  And  yet  one  hears  of  men  being 
slaves  for  life." 

Madame  Saincere  was  a  thoroughly  good  woman. 
She  had  helped  more  than  one  pilgrim  on  the  weary 
road  of  life.  She  had  seen  so  much  that  she  had 
become  as  pitiful  of  mental  as  great  physicians  are 
of  bodily  malady.  They  feel  none  of  the  disgust 
and  horror  with  which  the  uninitiated  shrink  from 
disease.  Neither  did  Madame  Saincere  draw  back 
from  the  sick  in  mind  or  heart.  In  spite  of  her 
quickness  of  temperament,  she  was  patient  with  all 


BREAKERS   AHEAD.  83 

sorts  of  error — except  when  it  took  the  shape  of 
meanness.  She  had  certainly  lost  the  prepossession 
jin  Adeline's  favor  which  she  had  conceived  on  first 
'seeing  her;  but  she  was  as  much  in  earnest  to  do 
her  good  at  the  end  as  at  the  beginning  of  the  inter- 
view. She  was  also  a  wise  woman, — she  made  use 
of  the  remedies  she  thought  most  calculated  to  effect 
a  cure,  without  first  consulting  any  pharmacopoeia 
to  see  if  her  medicines  were  orthodox  or  not. 

Morality — religion — duty.  Adeline  would  have 
scoffed  at  all  three.  Love,  in  such  breasts  as  hers, 
is  very  audacious, — it  enters  the  temple  and  de- 
thrones God  himself.  Madame  Saincere  intuitively 
knew  this.  Laying  one  hand  on  Adeline's  shoulder, 
and  raising  the  pretty  little  face  to  hers,  she  said : 

"  Your  great  fear,  then,  is  the  loss  of  Paul's  love. 
I  will  give  you  an  infallible  charm  to  retain  it.  Re- 
linquish all  intercourse  with  him,  and  he  will  never 
cease  to  regret  you;  none  other  will  ever  occupy 
your  place  in  his  heart.  Believe  an  old  woman  who 
^ias  seen  many  sad  things,  but  none  sadder  than  the 
conclusion  of  such  affairs  as  this  you  have  begun.  I 
dare  say  you  do  often  feel  life  tedious  and  colorless ; 
it  is  a  state  of  feeling  into  which  young  married 
women  who  can  afford  to  be  idle  often  fall  when  the 
hopes  and  illusions  of  the  girl  have  vanished,  and 
the  novelty  of  marriage  has  vanished.  You  are  at 
the  most  critical  stage  of  your  life.  Travel — change 
the  scene.  Your  husband  is  rich ;  ask  him  for  a 
tour  in  Switzerland — Italy — anywhere.  And  re- 
member this  :  happiness  is  never  in  the  possession  of 


84  A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 

what  we  covet ;  it  flies  our  approach  as  does  the 
horizon." 

Madame  Saincere  withdrew  quickly,  so  as  not  to 
let  the  effect  of  her  words  be  diminished  by  dis- 
cussion. 

A  week  after,  Madame  Aubry  left  a  card  with 
P.  P.  C.  on  it,  in  the  Rue  Blanche ;  and  Madame. 
Saincere  took  it  for  granted  that  her  conversation 
with  Adeline  had  brought  forth  good  fruit. 

It  remained  a  conjecture;  for  neither  Paul  nor 
Adeline  admitted  her  further  into  their  confidence. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"IT'S    OF   NO   USE,   MADAME." 

Reglna's  refusal  of  Gerard  threw  Madame  Sain- 
cere  into  some  perplexity.  What  was  to  be  done 
with  her  ?  She  could  not  remain  a  permanent  pupil 
at  Passy.  Once  more  Madame  Saincere  tried  to  in- 
terest the  De  Rochetaillees  for  their  granddaughter. 
She  wrote  them  a  warm  description  of  Regina's 
beauty,  dwelling  at  length  on  the  love  and  esteem 
felt  for  her  by  all  those  who  had  had  any  share  in 
her  education.  Regina  would  be  an  ornament  to  any 
family;  and  Madame  Saincere  prayed  the  grand- 
father and  grandmother  to  remember  what  a  disad- 
vantage the  want  of  the  countenance  of  her  mother's 
family  must  be  to  the  innocent  girl.  It  would  need 
only  their  recognition  to  place  her  in  a  position  to 
make  such  a  marriage  as  would  obliterate  all  trace 
of  poor  Blanche's  mesalliance. 

There  was  no  delay  in  the  reply — written  by  the 
notary. 

The  Comte  and  Comtesse  de  Rochetaillee  were 
gratified  by  the  satisfactory  accounts  they  had  re- 
ceived of  Mademoiselle  Nolopoeus,  from  one  they  so 
highly  respected  as  Madame  Saincere.  Monsieur 
and  Madame  de  Rochetaillee  entreated  that  lady 
not  to  withdraw  her  protection  from  the  young  wo- 


86  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

man,  and  to  make  any  arrangement  she  thought  fit 
as  to  a  home  for  Mademoiselle  Nolopceus. 

This  letter  Madame  Saincere  showed  to  Regina. 
The  cold  measured  words  in  which  her  grand-pa- 
rents, her  natural  protectors,  threw  her  on  the  mercy 
of  strangers,  fell  heavy  as  stones  on  the  poor  girl's 
heart.  But  perhaps  what  inflicted  the  sharpest, 
most  stinging  pain,  was  Madame  Saincere  asking 
her  what  place  she  would  prefer. 

"  If  you  do  not  like  to  remain  as  a  parlor-hoarder 
with  Madame  Flot,  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  find 
you  a  home  in  some  respectable  family." 

As  she  listened  to  these  words  a  sudden  faintness 
seized  on  Regina.  She  was  then  doomed  to  be  a 
vagabond.  Bravely  hiding  the  wound  she  had  re- 
ceived, she  answered — 

"  Let  me  remain  with  Madame  Flot.  She  has  al- 
ways treated  me  well.  I  don't  think  she  would  wish 
to  force  me  to  go  among  strangers." 

Madame  Saincere  winced. — On  first  reading  the 
De  Rochetaillees'  unfeeling  letter,  her  impulse  had 
been  to  invite  Regina  to  stay  with  her  ;  but  what  with 
the  dread  of  losing  the  tranquillity  of  her  life,  by  as- 
suming the  charge  of  a  demoiselle  d  marier,  and  the 
loud  opposition  of  a  chorus  of  cousins  (French  peo- 
ple are  a-  rich  in  cousins  as  the  Scotch)  ;  backed,  too, 
by  warnings  from  Madame  Latour,  Madame  Sain- 
cere had  decided,  not  without  a  little  remorse, 
against  the  promptings  of  her  good  heart. 

She  said  to  herself — 

"  I  am   an   egotist,  but  I  have  bought  my  quiet 


"IT'S  OF  NO  USE,  MADAME."  87 

dear  enough.  Ah!  yes;  if  any  one  has  a  right  to 
wrap  themselves  in  a  cloak  of  selfishness,  I  have.  I 
gave  up  all,  and  received  nothing." 

At  the  end  of  one  of  these  painful  half-hours  of  rem- 
iniscenes,  when  memory  suddenly  presents  us  with  a 
list  of  our  failures,  and  with  a  grim  picture  of  past 
hopes  and  illusions,  Madame  Saincere  said — 

"  After  all,  by  trying  to  better  things,  we  often 
make  them  worse  ;"  and  wrote  to  Madame  Flot  to 
propose  Regina  as  a  parlor-boarder.  As  the  offer  for 
the  accommodation  required  was  liberal,  there  was  do 
difficulty  in  carrying  out  the  arrangement. 

Not  long  after  Regina  had  been  installed  at  Passy 
as  demoiselle  en  chambre,  Paul  one  evening  startled 
his  aunt  by  saying — 

"  I  really  believe  I  have  found  you  the  eligible 
husband  you  are  always  invoking  for  Mademoiselle 
Regina.  I  understand  her  having  refused  Charles 
Gerard.  I  shall  have  a  very  poor  opinion  of  her 
taste  and  judgment  if  she  says  no  to  Felix  Desjar- 
dins.  He  is  one  of  the  finest  fellows  I  know.  Large- 
hearted  and  large-minded.  He  has  made  his  way  at 
the  bar  by  dint  of  talent  and  perseverance  ;  for  he 
had  neither  connections  nor  interest  to  back  him,  and 
now  he  stands  in  the  foremost  rank  of  our  rising  ad- 
vocates." 

"  But  what  makes  you  imagine  such  a  man  would 
ever  think  of  Regina  ?  He  might  have  a  wide  choice 
amono-  girls  with  more  fortune,  and  none  of  her  dis> 
advantages." 

"  It  is  exactly  what  you  consider  her  disadvan- 


88  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 


tages  that  have  attracted  him.  He  has  a  dread  of  a 
wife's  family.  It  was  hearing  him  say,  that  if  ever 
he  ventured  on  marriage  it  should  be  with  an  orphan, 
which  made  me  mention  your  protegee  to  him.  Her 
story  has  touched  his  heart,  and  he  begged  me  to 
propose  him  to  you." 

"  And  what  is  he  like  ?  Merit  and  goodness  do 
not  carry  the  day  with  girls.  An  angel  with  a  bald 
head  does  not  appear  an  angel  to  them." 

"Desjardins  has  plenty  of  hair  and  a  fine  intelli- 
gent countenance.  He  is  not  a  man  of  fashion,  but 
his  manners  are  good." 

"  Girls  have  a  horrible  facility  for  falling  in  love 
with  idle  good-looking  men,"  said  Madame  Saincere, 
with  considerable  emphasis.  "  However,  let  us  give 
my  gipsy  another  chance  of  having  a  reasonable  man 
for  her  husband.  She  will  be  here,  as  usual,  next 
Sunday.  Invite  your  friend  for  that  day.  Regina, 
of  course,  will  know  nothing  of  why  he  comes." 

Desjardins  came,  and  was  exceedingly  struck  by 
Regina's  beauty. 

"  She  is  too  handsome,"  he  said  to  Paul.  "  And 
one  of  my  crotchets  is,  that  I  should  like  to  be  the 
only  man  to  see  beauty  in  my  wife.  I  am  as  jealous 
as  a  Spaniard.  You  never  told  me  she  was  beauti- 
ful. Well  named  Regina.  She  is  the  beau  ideal  of 
a  young  queen.  Such  innocence,  simplicity,  and 
beauty  I  never  before  saw  combined." 

Paul  laughed. 

"  Habit  must  have  dulled  my  senses,  for,  I  confess, 
I  never  discovered  anything  much  out  of  the  com- 


"IT'S   OF   NO    USE,    MADAME."  89 

inoii  in  Mademoiselle  Nolopceus — a  pretty  brunette, 
certainly;  but  I  am  not  an  admirer  of  dark  women." 

"And  you  call  yourself  a  painter,'1  said  Desjardins, 
with  a  shrug. 

Paul  repeated  this  conversation  to  his  aunt. 

"  The  man  is  positively  in  love." 

"  And  I  don't  believe  she  would  recognize  him  if 
she  met  him  in  the  street,"  replied  Madame  Sain- 
cere.  "  As  he  has  a  gray  hair  or  two  visible,  I  dare 
say  she  takes  him  for  an  old  man." 

The  following  Sunday  Regina  was  again  in  the 
Rue  Blanche,  and  so  was  Desjardins.  He  endea- 
vored to  draw  her  into  conversation,  his  expressive 
face  revealing  all  the  admiration  he  dared  not  put 
into  words. 

Paul's  eyes,  on  this  occasion,  were  suddenly  opened 
to  see  that  Regina  was  in  truth  a  superb  Southern 
beaut v,  with  eyes  that  looked  as  though  it  would  be 
difficult  to  sound  their  depth ;  plenty  of  character 
visible  in  face  and  form,  as  she  sat  tranquilly  endur- 
ing Desjardins'  passionate  glances.  Paul,  who  now 
that  he  had  begun  to  observe,  did  so  narrowly,  saw 
that  under  this  sharp  fire  her  color  did  not  vary  nor 
her  eyes  droop. 

He  likened  her  in  his  thoughts  to  one  of  those 
protid  Roman  maidens  who  ripened  into  a  Portia  or 
an  Arria.  Once,  while  he  was  thus  contemplating 
her,  their  glances  met,  and  the  sudden  softening  of 
her  eyes,  and  the  bright  smile  that  just  flitted  over 
her  face  startled  him.  A  strange  sensation  made 
him  turn  away  abruptly,  and  throw  himself  into  the 


90  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

heat  of  a  debate  between  his  aunt  and  Dr.  M . 

But  in  the  midst  of  tirades  as  to  transmigration, 
metempsychosis,  and  new  and  old  souls,  Paul  heard 
every  word  Desjardins  was  saying  to  Regina.  He 
listened  to  the  barrister's  ever-softening  tones  with  a 
growing  exasperation.  Looking  round,  he  tried,  but 
in  vain,  to  catch  a  sight  of  Regina's  face ;  she  was 
engrossed,  no  doubt,  by  Desjardins'  conversation.  So 
much  the  better. 

Madame  Saincere's  eyes  travelled  in  the  same 
direction  as  those  of  Paul,  and  then  she  gave  her 
nephew  a  significant  congratulatory  nod,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "You  have  been  successful,  you  see."  On 
the  strength  of  this  belief  Madame  Saincere  invited 
Regina  to  spend  a  fortnight  in  the  Rue  Blanche. 

One  more  example  of  how  we  push  our  way 
through  the  world,  with  about  as  much  sight  as  the 
mole.  Or  is  there  some  unknown  power  which 
amuses  itself  with  snapping  asunder  all  human  webs, 
disarranging  our  game,  making  us  do  that  we  would 
not  and  should  not  ? 

During  the  next  fifteen  days  M.  Desjardins  found 
reasons,  which  Madame  Saincere  willingly  accepted, 
for  being  almost  every  day  at  one  hour  or  the  other 
in  Regina's  company.  She  had  never  visited  the 
gallery  of  the  Louvre,  nor  that  of  Versailles,  never 
heard  an  Italian  Opera,  and  it  was  quite  time  she 
should ;  and  Madame  Saincere  told  Paul  three  was 
bad  company,  and  he  must  make  one  of  the  party  to 
allow  M.  Desjardins  to  improve  his  opportunities. 

"  I  begin  to  think  the  English  plan  of  courtship, 


"  IT'S   OF  NO  USE,  MADAME."  91 

with  some  modifications,  excellent,"  observed  the 
good  lady.  "Our  way  of  handing  over  a  girl  to  a 
Btranger  is  odious  and  absurd." 

Madame  Saincere  thought  as  little  of  Paid  as  Paul 
had  thought  of  Regina  before  Desjardins'  wooing. 

That  was  a  pleasant  fortnight  to  all  the  party  of 
four — a  delightful  fortnight  to  Regina.  It  was  so 
calm,  so  like  sailing  on  a  smooth,  blue  sea — if  it 
could  only  never  come  to  an  end. 

"  Regina  really  grows  beautiful,"  observed  Mad- 
ame Saincere  to  Paul.  "  The  bud  is  in  its  perfec- 
tion, within  a  day  or  two  of  becoming  a  rose.  Your 
friend  will  have  to  thank  you  for  a  charming  wife." 
They  were  in  the  gardens  of  Versailles. 

"  You  believe,  then,  that  she  will  accept  Desjar- 
dins ?" 

"  Yes— don't  you  ?" 

"lam  no  judge.  Desjardins  worries  me  to  get 
him  an  answer." 

"He  is  wrong  to  be  in  a  hurry,"  said  Madame 
Saincere,  without  accounting  to  herself  for  her  own 
unwillingness  to  put  the  fatal  question. 

"  However,  you  must  allow  she  has  sm-ely  seen 
him  often  enough  to  be  able  to  say  whether  she  likes 
him  or  not,"  observed  Paul. 

"  It  is  in  your  friend's  interest  I  would  delay. 
He  is  a  man  who  must  gain  by  being  well  known. 
I  am  by  no  means  sure  she  has  any  idea  he  is  think- 
in  £  of  her." 

Paul  smiled.  "I  am  in  no  hurry,  my  aunt.  I 
am   merely  Desjardins'   ambassador,  interpreter,— 


92  A   PSYCHE    OF   TO-DAY. 

what  you  will ;  but  I  humbly  suggest  that  if  Ma- 
demoiselle Regina  is  still  in  ignorance  of  his  views, 
that  it  would  be  kinder  to  Desjardin  if  she  were  en- 
lightened." 

"  You  men  of  the  world  never  believe  in  a  girl's 
simplicity." 

"  I  said  just  now  I  was  no  judge  of  young  ladies." 

"  Well,  I  shall  speak  to  her  to-morrow,  to  please 
you  and  your  friend — quite  against  my  own  judg- 
ment ;  if  things  go  wrong  don't  blame  me,  but  your 
own  precipitation." 

Madame  Saincere  was  getting  hot. 

"  I  will  tell  Desjardins  you  object." 

"  No ;  I  have  said  I  shall  speak  to  her  to-morrow, 
and  I  shall  do  so." 

It  was  Madame  Saincere's  habit  every  morning 
after  breakfast  to  seat  herself  at  her  writing-table 
and  get  through  her  letters.  Like  most  ladies  with- 
out children,  she  had  a  large  correspondence.  When 
taking  her  usual  place  before  her  desk,  she  called 
Retina  to  her. 

"  Sit  down  here  by  me,  my  dear,  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you." 

Perhaps  Regina  really  was  untroubled  by  hearing 
a  phrase  that  is  wont  to  send  a  thrill  of  apprehen- 
sion through  the  most  innocent  breast.  What  is  a 
fact,  is  that  she  took  the  chair  indicated  by  Madame 
Saincere  with  a  face  as  calm  as  usual. 

"No  doubt  you  can  make  a  shrewd  g^uess  at  what 
I  have  to  tell  you,"  went  on  Madame  Saincere,  smil- 
ing, and  laying  a  hand  on  one  of  Regina's.     "  Young 


"  IT'S  OF  NO   USE,  MADAME."  93 

ladies  are  seldom  .blind  to  the  admiration  they  in- 
spire." 

Regina  neither  blushed  nor  smiled — perhaps  she 
turned  a  trifle  pale ;  and  Madame  Saincere  felt  the 
hand  she  held  grow  cold. 

"My  clear,  without  any  more  preamble,  Monsieur 
Desjardins  wishes  to  marry  you.  I  congratulate  you 
on  the  good  fortune  of  having  inspired  a  very  supe- 
rior man  with  a  sincere  and  ardent  love  for  you." 

Madame  Saincere  stopped  and  gazed  into  the  girl's 
face ;  no  sculptured  marble  was  ever  whiter. 

"You  are  too  intelligent  not  to  appreciate  his 
merit,"  continued  Madame  Saincere,  with  a  feeling 
similar  to  that  of  a  general  of  experience  who  per- 
ceives from  the  outset  that  a  battle  is  lost.  "  I 
should  have  no  fears  for  your  happiness  with  such  a 
husband :  that  you  should  be  happy,  Regina,  is  one 
of  the  few  desires  I  have  left." 

"  I  cannot  marry  Monsieur  Desjardins,"  said  Re- 
gina. 

"  You  cannot  marry  him  ?"  repeated  Madame 
Saincere,  in  a  high  key. 

"  Because  I  do  not  in  the  least  like  him,"  was  the 
firm  reply. 

"Then  you  are  sillier,  far  sillier  than  I  supposed 
it  possible,"  said  Madame  Saincere,  sharply.  "  I 
took  you  for  something  better  than  a  mere  Miss.  I 
believed  you  had  heart  and  head  enough  to  recog- 
nize goodness  and  talent,  when  such  things  happened 
to  come  in  your  way.  Pray  why  don't  you  like  him  ? 
He  is  good-looking,  young  enough ;  he  is  well  off; 


94:  a  rsicHE  or  to-day. 

absurdly  in  love.  What  do  you  want  or  hope  foi 
more  ?" 

"  Nothing.  I  don't  like  him,  and  I  never,  never 
could  marry  him,"  said  Regina,  still  speaking  with- 
out excitement. 

There  was  a  letter  lying  on  the  writing-table.  Ma- 
dame Saincere  took  it  up,  saying, — "  At  least  hear 
what  he  says  for  himself;  learn  what  it  is  you  are  so 
carelessly  refusing." 

"Indeed,  it's  of  no  use,  dear  madame.  I  am 
grieved  to  vex  you — or  anybody — but  oh  !  no,  no, 
indeed  I  cannot  marry  Monsieur  Desjardins.  Don't 
be  so  angry  with  me ;"  and  Regina  knelt  down  and 
kissed  Madame  Saincere's  hands. 

"I  am  not  angry,"  protested  Madame  Saincere, 
very  angrily,  "  but  I  am  disappointed,  and  Paul  will 
be  cruelly  vexed  with  himself." 

"What  has  M.  Latour  to  do  with  the  matter?" 
asked  Regina,  and  her  eyes  emitted  an  ominous 
flash. 

"  Do  with  it  ?  Only  that  it  was  he  who  brought 
Monsieur  Desjardins  here  in  the  hope  and  expecta- 
tion that  you  would  know  how  to  appreciate  him. 
Paul  paid  you  a  great  compliment  in  thinking  you 
worthy  of  a  man  he  esteems  so  highly.  However, 
there  is  no  occasion  for  recriminations;  circumstances 
allow  you  more  freedom  of  choice  than  is  usual ;  but, 
my  dear,  allow  me  to  remind  you  I  am  not  likely  to 
be  able  to  find  you  a  husband." 

Regina  interrupted  Madame  Saincere.  "I  don't 
wish  any  one  to  trouble  themselves  to  do  so."    Here 


"IT'S   OF  NO   USE,   MADAME."  95 

the  clear  voice  grew  husky.  "I  have  no  one  to 
please  but  myself,  none  of  my  family  cares  what 
becomes  of  me,  and  I  would  rather  be  a  cook,  or 
sweep  a  crossing,  or  die" —  here  a  long  gasp,  then  in 
a  quivering  whisper — "than  marry  just — any  one." 

"There  is  no  occasion  for  all  this  passion  and  vio- 
lence," replied  Madame  Saineere;  "no  one,  least  of 
all  either  Paul  or  I,  wish  to  put  any  compulsion  on 
your  will.  Pardon  me,  nevertheless,  for  saying  once 
more  that  I  believe  you  are  at  this  moment  throwing 
away  your  best  chance  of  happiness:  though,  after 
all,  it  is  possible  you  would  never  understand  such  a 
character  as  that  of  M.  Desjardins.  He  is  too  sensi- 
ble :  his  feelings  are  not  sufficiently  on  the  surface : 
they  do  not  explode  in  poetical  tirades :  nor  is  he  six 
feet  high,  with  the  head  of  a  brigand." 

Regina  fancied,  and  fancied  wrongly,  there  was 
an  allusion  to  her  parents  in  this  last  observation. 
She  let  go  Madame  Saincere's  hands,  rose  from  her 
knees,  stiffened  all  over,  mentally  and  bodily,  with 
resentment.     She  said,  abruptly' — 

"  My  father  was  a  good  man,  and  made  my  mother 
happy." 

For  an  instant  Madame  Saineere,  quite  at  fault, 
looked  at  the  girl  in  blank  amazement.  Then,  per- 
ceiving the  possible  interpretation  of  her  last  words 
— for  Xolopoeus  had  been  tall  and  wild-looking — she 
exclaimed — 

"  My  dear  girl,  I  was  a  thousand  leagues  from  in- 
tending any  allusion  to  your  parents.  I  loved  your 
mother  dearly,  Regina.    I  knew  her  from  her  cradle; 


96  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

for  her  sake  I  received  you  ;  for  her  sake,  even  more 
than  for  your  own,  I  desire  your  happiness.  She  was 
a  loving,  gentle  creature." 

Regina  answered  in  a  voice  made  harsh  by  deep 
emotion — 

"I  know  I  am  hard  and  cold.  I  can't  help  it. 
Since  they  died,  no  one  has  ever  had  a  bit  of  heart 
for  me." 

"  Not  I,  Regina  ?"  and  Madame  Saincere  tried  to 
take  her  hand. 

"  No,  not  even  you,"  said  Regina,  stepping  back. 
"  You  often  dislike  me.     I  have  felt  it  in  your  kiss." 

The  girl  shuddered.  The  floodgates  were  open, 
and  out  rushed  the  long  pent-up  waters  of  bitter- 
ness. 

"  Your  cook  Hortense  was  kinder  to  me  in  one 
week  than  you  have  been  in  all  these  yeai-s.  All 
that  you  have  done  for  me  has  been  from  the  charity 
which  would  not  even  thrust  a  homeless  dog  from 
your  door.  How  often  I  could  have  begged  you  on 
my  knees  only  to  care  as  much  for  me  as  for  your 
maid;  to  look  at  me  as  kindly  as  you  did  at  her! 
You  are  good,  but  you  have  never  liked  me.  I  am 
born  to  the  fate  of  Ishmael,  my  great  progenitor.  It 
is  not  fair  that  I  should  suffer  for  what  I  did  not  do, 
I  can't  help  my  Bohemian  blood.  If  I  were  fair- 
haired  and  blue  eyed  you  would  all  love  me.  I  will 
go  back  to  my  father's  people,  far  away,  where  I 
shall  never,  never  hear  any  of  your  names  again." 

As  she  said  this  she  saw  Paul  Latour  standing 
gazing  at  her.    Her  eyes  met  his  with  a  shock  of  an- 


"IT'S   OF  NO   USE,    MADAME."  97 

ger.  She  turned  at  bay  on  him,  like  some  wounded 
animal. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  M.  Latour,  but  I  won't 
marry  M.  Desjardins;"  and  out  of  the  room  she 
rushed. 

"  She  has  lost  her  senses,"  said  Madame  Saincere. 

"  Poor  little  girl !"  exclaimed  Paul,  and  his  eyes 
were  full  of  tears. 

"  Her  wild  blood  is  up.  I  am  sure  I  do  care  for 
her." 

Paul  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  doubtful  of  that.  Liking  goes  by  favor; 
and  we  cannot  give  affection  because  we  ought.  I 
had  not  the  slightest  conception  she  was  of  such  a 
passionate  nature.     She  has  suffered,  poor  child." 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  She  asks  for  affection  in  one 
breath  and  refuses  it  in  another,"  replied  Madame 
Saincere,  too  uncomfortable  to  put  the  question  in  a 
fair  light.  "I  think- my  actions  have  sufficiently 
proved  my  good-will." 

"They  have  proved  your  great  benevolence.  I 
wish  I  dared  ask  Mademoiselle  Kea^ina  to  forgive  me 
for  my  share  in  this  disagreeable  business." 

"  The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  away ;  and 
do  not  come  back  this  evening." 

Madame  Saincere  went  to  Regina's  door.  It  was 
fastened. 

"  Better  leave  her  to  cool  down,"  thought  the 
woman  of  many  experiences.  "By  dinner-time  she 
will  be  ashamed  of  her  outburst,  and  then  I  will  give 
her  Desjardins'  letter  to  read." 


98  A   PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

Having  thus  resolved,  Madame  Saincere  put  on 
her  bonnet  and  cloak  and  went  out  for  a  walk.  All 
her  life  she  had  found  that  air  and  exercise  were  in- 
fallible restorers  of  the  equilibrium  of  the  mind.    She  ^ 

returned  home  in  a  far  more  indulgent  mood  toward, 

/ 
the  delinquent. 

Though  sincere  and  truthful,  Regina  was  not 
frank.  On  the  contrary,  her  tendency  was  to  shut 
up  all  she  felt  within  her  own  soul.  As  Madame 
Saincere  had  anticipated,  after  the  heat  of  her  pas- 
sion had  evaporated,  she  felt  humbled  at  having 
allowed  the  sorrow  of  her  heart  to  be  seen.  What 
seemed  to  her  protectress  a  mere  girlish  outbreak, 
had  been  an  emotion  convulsing  and  rending  Re- 
gina's  whole  being.  It  was  with  surprise  that  Ma- 
dame Saincere  found  her  pale  and  feeble,  like  one 
recovering  from  sharp  illness  rather  than  from  a  fit 
of  anger. 

Madame  Saincere  was  so  complete  a  contrast  in 
character  to  her  protegee  that  she  could  not  com- 
prehend so  great  a  prostration  for  so  small  a  cause. 
But  it  is  not  by  external  causes  that  we  can  measure 
emotion  or  determine  on  the  amount  of  Buffering:. 
What  is  a  trifle  to  one,  may  shake  another  to  the 
core. 

However  exaggerated  in  feeling  she  might  con- 
sider Regina,  Madame  Saincere  showed  her  a  gen- 
uine  kindness  that  evening,  which,  coming  in  aid  of 
:na'»  own  regrets,  established  a  better  under- 
standing  between  them  for  the  future. 

After  dinner,  Madame  Saincere  made  Regina  sit 

7  O 


"IT'S   OF  NO   USE,    MADAME."  99 

in  her  own  peculiar  chair,  placing  a  pillow  beneath 
her  head.  Regina  made  no  resistance,  only  when 
Madame  Saincere  onCe  stooped  over  her,  she  held  np 

Iter  face  to  be  kissed  as  a  repentant  child  might  have 
done. 

'•Do  yon  think  you  are  well  enough  to  listen  to 
the  little  I  have  to  add  on  the  subject  of  this  morn- 
ing ?"  asked  Madame  Saineere. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  I  was  so  violent.  I  don't  know 
what  made  me  so.  I  felt  all  over  as  if  I  had  been 
stung  by  wasps.  I  am  not  ill,  only  tired,"  and  the 
e)Telids,  swollen  by  weeping,  dropped  over  the  weary 
eyes. 

"  First  of  all  I  am  going  to  read  you  a  letter  from 
Monsieur  Desjardins ;  not  with  any  intention  of 
trying  to  change  your  decision,  but  as  some  ex- 
planation of  why  I  was  so  disappointed  by  your 
refusal." 

It  was  indeed  a  letter  that  could  only  have  been 
written  by  one  with  a  noble  heart.  The  avowal  of 
his  love  for  Regina  was  made  in  forcible  but  simple 
language.  As  she  read,  Madame  Saineere  could  see 
that  the  girl's  figure  was  agitated  by  nervous  starts, 
like  those  of  a  patient  under  a  galvanic  battery,  and 
at  the  conclusion  two  large  tears  rolled  out  of  the 
half-closed  eyes. 

In  a  voice  that  quivered,  Regina  said,  "  I  think  it 
is  very  bad  of  me  not  to  care  for  such  a  good  man. 
I  am  ready  to  beg  every  one's  pardon.  Oh !  why 
can't  I  like  him  ?" 

"  Why  not,  indeed,  you  foolish  child  ?" 


100  A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 

"It  is  not  my  fault;  but,  indeed,  whenever  he 
came  I  always  wished  he  would  go  away." 

"  Is  he  the  only  one  who  excites  that  flattering 
wish  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so." 

"  Then  that  ends  our  discussion.  Now,  my  dear, 
go  at  once  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  Jeune  fille  au  nom  male  et  fier  cornme  ton  co3ur." 
Portrait  par  Andre  Theuriet 

Withtn-  the  next  twelve  months  Madame  Aubry 
suddenly  left  Juvigny.  Her  husband's  affairs  re- 
quired a  journey  to  Russia;  and,  contrary  to  his 
usual  nonchalance  with  regard  to  his  wife,  he  now 
insisted  that  she  should  accompany  him. 

Common  gossip  said  that  his  jealousy  had  at  last 
been  awakened,  but  this  was  a  mere  surmise  founded 
on  probabilities,  for  no  human  being  could  aver  that 
M.  Aubry  had  ever  complained  of,  or  blamed 
Madame  Aubry. 

She  was  gone,  and  from  the  moment  of  her  de- 
parture, the  barometer  of  Madame  Latour's  hopes 
rose  as  to  Paul's  marriage.  It  was  amazinsr  how 
many  charming  girls  with  good  dowries  she  discov- 
ered ;  and  she  enlisted  so  many  pei*sons  in  her  cause, 
that  Paul  came  at  last  to  look  on  every  invitation  to 
dinner  or  to  soirees  as  so  many  traps  to  marry  him. 

Madame  Saincei-e  in  vain  counselled  her  sister  to 
give  Paul  time  to  recover  possession  of  his  feelings. 
"Absence  is  a  great  ally — it  throws  a  veil  over  re- 
membrance." 

Madame  Latour  wrote  back  —  "He  is  four-and- 


102  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

thirty  ;  every  day  that  passes  renders  him  a  less  eli- 
gible parti.  lie  will  put  off  and  put  off  till  I  am 
dead." 

"  But  it  is  not  honorable — not  just" — replied  Ma 
dame Saincere,  "that  he  should   marry  one  woman 
while  his  heart  belongs  to  another." 

"  Marriage,"  returned  3Iadame  Latour,  "  ought  not 
to  be  a  love  affair.  I  see  around  me  plenty  of  happy 
households;  and,  in  most  cases,  the  husband  and 
wife  had  not  seen  one  another  more  than  twice  when 
the  contract  was  signed.  The  same  interests,  with 
life  in  common,  produGe  an  affection  far  more  lasting 
than  what  you  sentimentalists  call  love." 

Madame  Latour  came  expressly  to  Paris,  to  in- 
troduce her  son  to  two  lovely  and  faultless  girls, 
brought  up  according  to  the  most  approved  rules, 
who  had  never  been  out  of  their  mother's  sight  since 
they  were  five  years  old — girls  who  were  prizes  also 
as  to  fortune. 

"  You  ask  an  impossibility,"  said  Paul.  "  I  could 
never  care  two  straws  either  for  your  Alathilde  or 
Sophia.  Surely  you  don't  wish  my  misery,  mother. 
I  might  put  up  with  the  crying  of  children,  and  the 
migraines  of  a  woman  I  loved,  but  otherwise  the 
post  of  father  of  a  family  would  kill  me." 

"  Then  I  am  to  die,  Paul,  without  ever  having  held 
a  child  of  yours  on  my  knee." 

"  In  the  first  place  I  might  marry  and  never  have 
a  child.  Trust  a  little  to  the  chapter  of  chances, 
mother — to  that  hidden  power  which  so  often  ar- 
ranges or  reverses   the   plans  of  mortals.      To-mor- 


"JEUNE    FILLE   AtJ    NOM    MALE."  103 

row,  even  to-day,  I  may  sec  the  creature  destined  to 
make  me  a  husband  and  you  a  grandmother." 

Before  the  day  ended  Paul  thought  that  his  joke 
might  possibly  become  earnest.  He  was  in  his  ate- 
lier, in  that  listless  mood  into  which  all  artists  sink 
when  they  have  finished  any  work  that  has  occupied 
much  time.  Be  it  a  book,  or  a  picture,  or  a  sym- 
phony, the  end  is  sighed  for — the  last  touches  are 
given  with  feverish  eagerness.  Counsels  that  entail 
the  slightest  further  effort  are  listened  to  with  irri- 
tation— often  received  with  anger:  the  sole  desire 
is  to  write  finis;  and  then — oh  !  inconstancy  of  man's 
spirit— no  sooner  are  the  five  letters  traced,  than, 
instead  of  the  joys  of  liberty,  the  artist,  writer,  or 
composer  sits  down  and  takes  a  gloomy  view  of 
things  in  general — of  his  own  work  in  particular. 
"  The  game  had  not  been  worth  the  trouble,"  solilo- 
quized Paul;  far  better  had  he  been  satisfied  to  go 
plodding  daily  to  an  office,  and  not  fancied  lie  was 
born  to  be  anything  superior  to  his  fellows.  "Well, 
it  did  not  much  matter — this  was  probably  the  last 
time  he  should  trouble  the  public.  His  imagination 
was  exhausted — his  nerve  gone." 

Paul  was  smoking  a  pipe  of  discontent  when  the 
sound  of  the  timbre  in  the  ante-chamber  announced 
a  visitor. 

"  Some  fool  come  to  favor  me  with  his  criticism, 
or  his  stupider  compliments,"  he  said,  laying  down 
his  meerschaum,  and  calling  out  gruffly  enough, 
"Ertirez." 

The  handle  of  the  door  turned  briskly,  aud  Paul 


104  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

started  to  his  feet,  amazement  flushing  his  face.  A 
girl  certainly  not  above  eighteen,  bionda  e  grassotto, 
stood  in  the  doorway,  her  magnificent  flaxen  hair 
and  lily-fair  skin  in  notable  contrast  to  her  black 
eyes  and  black  eyebrows.  Her  forehead  was  wide 
and  prominent,  the  mouth  small,  the  chin  slightly 
projecting.  The  lower  part  of  the  face  that  of  a 
child,  the  upper  that  of  a  man  and  a  thinker.  The 
eyes  were  full  of  power  and  inspiration.  She  came 
forward  to  Paul  with  outstretched  hand. 

"  _Z"have  been  so  charmed — that's  not  the  word — 
so  transported — by  your  last  picture,  that  I  could 
not  help  coming  to  tell  you  so.  We  must  be  friends. " 

Her  tone  and  gesture  were  frank  and  brusque, 
like  those  of  a  school-boy.  Paul  was  puzzled  how 
to  meet  her  advance.  Had  she  been  ten  years  older 
he  would  have  been  quite  at  his  ease  ;  but  the  speaker 
was  such  a  mere  girl !  She,  perhaps,  guessed  what 
was  passing  in  his  mind,  for  she  said — 

"  My  duenna  is  in  your  anteroom,  let  us  call  her 
in,  and  then  I'll  tell  you  who  I  am." 

Paul  hastened  to  introduce  a  respectable  middle- 
aged  woman,  evidently  holding  some  office  between 
that  of  a  governess  and  a  lady's-maid. 

"Sit  down,  Martha,"  said  the  young  lady,  in 
English,  "  and  make  up  your  mind  to  be  comfortable, 
for  I  am  going  to  stay  here  a  long  while." 

"  English !  that  accounts  for  all,"  said  Paul  to 
himself. 

The  girl,  as  if  she  had  again  read  his  thoughts, 


"JEUNE  FILLE   AU   NOM  MALE."  105 

burst  into  a  charming  laugh — a  sort  of  musical  ca- 
denza,  of  which  some  women  have  the  secret. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  French,  "  I  come  from  the  land 
of  oddities;  that  is,  I  was  born  there — in  Ireland,  if 
you  please,  not  in  England — but  I  remember  nothing 
about  my  birthplace.  I  came  to  France  a  baby. 
My  name  is  Aurora  Dale.  For  my  intimates,  I  am 
Hubert.  I  am  the  only  child  of  my  father,  who 
is  a  scholar,  the  kindest  and  dearest  of  men,  who 
lets  me  have  all  my  own  way." 

"I  wonder  what  man  of  mortal  mould  could  re- 
fuse you  anything?"  exclaimed  Paul. 

"  No  compliments,"  she  said  :  "it's  my  misfortune 
to  have  a  woman's  form,  but  I  have  the  soul  of  a 
man,  and  you  must  treat  me  as  one,  or  you  cannot 
be  admitted  into  my  circle." 

"  You  ask  an  impossibility,"  said  Paul,  speaking 
in  downright  earnest. 

"  Think  of  me,  speak  to  me  as  Hubert — the  youth 
Hubert — or  our  acquaintance  ends  here." 

"  Having  seen  you,  do  you  imagine  I  can  submit 
to  be  banished  your  presence  ?" 

"  I  will  not  be  treated  as  a  young  lady,  compli- 
mented and  made  love  to.  Accept  my  terms  or 
avoid  me.  In  the  mean  while  you  are  going  to  show 
me  all  your  pictures — your  own  paintings  I  mean. 
I  want  to  see  if  there  are  any  equal  to  the  last ;  how 
divine  it  is !"  and  she  sat  down  on  the  corner  of  a 
divan  and  covered  her  eyes.  "  It  comes  before  me 
now,  a   poor,  little,  cold-stricken    redbreast,  and  a 


106  A  PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

few  fading  flowers — nothing  more ;  and  yet  it  trans- 
pierces me  as  music  sometimes  does.  Bristles  and 
pigments  to  move  me  so,  and  make  my  heart  ready 
to  burst  with  melancholy !  I  should  like  to  find 
out  how,  when  divine  thoughts  arise  in  a  man's 
mind,  some  turn  into  music,  others  into  pictures, 
and  others  into  poetry,  more  beautiful  than  all,  and 
why  great  beauty  in  any  shape  makes  us  ready  to 
weep." 

She  looked  at  him  with  great,  moist  eyes,  the  lips 
and  nostrils  quivering  with  excitement.  Paul  was 
quite  at  fault ;  it  was  delightful  to  be  thus  praised ; 
but  his  spirit  did  not  rise  to  the  level  of  hers.  It 
was  she  who  was  the  discoverer  in  his  picture  of 
worlds  unknown  to  him.  "  I  am  often  sad,"  she 
went  on,  "  becaiise  I  cannot  understand  things.  I 
am  always  longing — longing.     Don't  laugh  at  me." 

"Far  from  it,"  said  Paul.  "  Once  I  too  sought  to 
reach  the  Unknown ;  but  little  by  little  I  have  been 
driven  back  to  reality.  As  for  our  ideas,  my  belief 
is,  that  none  of  us  can  trace  our  inspirations  to  their 
source.  Life  is  a  network  of  riddles,  Mademoiselle 
Aurora." 

"  Hubert,  or  I  vanish  forever.  Heigho  !  let's  be 
done  with  sentiment,  and  be  a  little  mad.  Tell  Hu- 
bert about  your  student's  life,  or  show  me  your 
sketch-books :  I  shall  learn  more  about  you  from 
them  than  from  anything  you  will  venture  to  say. 
All  men  lie  when  they  talk  of  themselves." 

"  And  women,  are  they  more  truthful  ?"  he  asked, 
laughing,  as  he  brought  her  half-a-dozen  portfolios. 


"JEUNE   FILLE  AU   NOM  MALE."  107 

"Poor  things!  how  can  you  wonder  :ii  anything 
they  do  when  you  know  how  men  treat  them  ?  I 
have  sworn  by  the  Styx  to  defy  Nature  :  to  be  manly 
and  in  all  things  true  to  my  own  soul."  She  opened 
one  of  the  portfolios.  "  Now,  if  you  were  a  woman, 
you  would  annihilate  that  date  of  fifteen  years  ago, 
and  do  so  only  because  men  ridicule  age  in  women. 
How  old  were  you  then  V" 

"  Nearly  twenty." 

"So  you  have  reached  the  half-way  of  life;  you 
have  seen  more  than  you  are  likely  to  see  in  the  fu- 
ture. Do  you  remember  how  you  felt  at  twenty? 
Is  it  different  with  you  now  ?" 

"  Very." 

"  Then  it  is  true  that  we  are  always  becoming 
something  else." 

"  Do  you  study  Philosophy  with  your  father  ?" 

"No;  by  myself.  'All  labor,'  he  says,  'that  is 
good  for  anything  must  be  done  alone.'  " 

"  And  you  are  really  only — " 

"  Eighteen  my  last  birthday." 

"  And  you  are  not  a  fairy  ?" 

She  stamped  her  little  foot  impatiently.  "  Why 
can't  you  treat  me  as  an  equal  ?" 

"  Because  I  feel  that  you  are  my  superior." 

"  Nonsense  !  You  woidd  scarcely  say  that  to  the 
greatest  man  breathing.  This  must  be  the  picture 
of  one  of  your  first  loves;  it's  the  same  face  all 
through  the  portfolio.     What's  become  of  her  ?" 

"  She  is  married,  is  a  mother,  and  lives  in  Rus- 
sia." 


108  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

All  exact,  but  what  a  different  impression  Paul 
managed  to  convey  from  the  truth  ! 

"She  is  whimsical-looking  rather  than  pretty  ;  her 
nose  is  en  trompette.     Did  you  care  much  for  her  ?" 

"  Very  much." 

■f 

"  And  you  have  survived  and  thrived  ?" 

"It's  not  so  easy  to  die  of  grief." 

"  Oh  !    I  suppose  she  is  nearly  an  old  lady  now  ?" 

"  One  year  younger  than  I  am." 

"  That's  a  fine  head,  that  chalk  one  in  the  frame 
opposite.  I  like  the  face  better  than  that  of  your 
first  love.  This  one  gives  the  idea  of  an  Arab  horse 
with  a  club.     Another  first  love  is  it  ?" 

"  No ;  not  at  all.  The  original  is  scarcely  older 
now  than  yourself.  She  is  a  ward  of  an  aunt  of 
mine,  and  is  still  at  school." 

"  Unhappy  girl !  That's  what  gives  her  the  look 
of  having  a  heavy  bit  between  her  teeth." 

"  Though  she  looks  something!:  wild,  she  is  in  fact 
a  gentle,  good  little  girl." 

"  A  gentle,  good  little  girl !"  repeated  Hubert,  in 
a  tone  of  contempt.  "  She  is  a  Judith,  a  Zenobia. 
What's  her  name  ?" 

"  Regina " 

"  There — I  was  sure  of  it ;  you  were  trying  to 
mystify  me,  but  you  couldn't." 

"  Indeed,  she  is  simply  Mademoiselle  Regina  No- 
lopoeus." 

"Really  and  truly?  Not  even  a  Roumanian 
princess." 

"  On  my  honor,  no." 


"JEUNE   FILLE   AU   NOM   MALE."  109 

"Her  face  captivates  me.  And  you  don't  adore 
her  ?" 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world." 

"  Are  you  a  man  of  stone  ?" 

"  No.  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  take  your 
likeness." 

"  You  may  have  it  for  nothing,  my  friend.  I  shall 
be  taken  in  a  boy's  cap — only  my  head — and  you 
must  hang  it  by  Regina,  and  call  us,  I  promessi 
sposi.  There  is  an  idea  for  you.  Shall  I  come  on 
Monday  ?" 

"  If  Mr.  Dale  will  permit  you." 

"  Oh  !  my  father  always  allows  what  I  choose  to 
do;  dear  father  ....  There's  my  card,  come  and 
dine  with  us  on  Saturday  ;  it's  our  day  for  receiving, 
and  I'll  introduce  you  to  him.  If  you  and  he  like 
one  another,  your  name  shall  be  put  on  our  Saturday 
list." 

Darkness  seemed  to  fall  on  the  atelier  when  Au- 
rora left  it. 

Paul  took  his  hat  and  went  out,  without  any 
settled  purpose,  but  to  get  air  enough  to  breathe. 

One  day  so  constantly  resembles  another  that  it 
is  an  event  as  rare  as  charming  when  a  man,  who 
has  reached  the  age  of  five-and-thirty,  meets  an  indi- 
vidual who  wakes  an  echo  of  delight  in  his  soul,  stirs 
his  mind,  and  impels  it  to  move  even  a  step  forward. 
Paul,  after  this  visit  of  Aurora's,  felt  as  if  his  spirit 
had  burst  some  barrier.  He  was  walking  along  with 
a  swift  step,  his  thoughts  in  a  whirl,  trying  to  gather 
themselves  into  form,  as  sand  will  do  when  set  in 


110  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

motion,  by  harmonious  chords  on  the  sounding-board 
of  a  piano,  when  his  arm  was  seized  from  behind. 

"  The  man  of  all  others  I  want,"  exclaimed  a  fa- 
miliar voice,  with  a  strong  German  accent.  "  Come 
with  me,  Baul,  I  have  scent  of  a  Chardin,  an  un- 
doubted original,  they  say.  We  shall  see,  it  is  not 
easy  to  throw  dust  in  Ernst  Burgrnuller's  eyes." 

Ernst,  complacent  reader,  is  perhaps  the  most 
astute  of  modern  connoisseurs  of  pictures.  The 
French  school  of  the  18th  century  has  no  secrets 
for  him.  He  can  tell  you  how  many  Prudhons  are 
to  be  found  in  the  galleries  of  Paris ;  he  is  as  famil- 
iar with  a  Coypel  as  with  his  own  hand-writing ;.  and 
he  distinguishes  at  a  glance  a  true  from  a  spurious 
Chardin.  Once  on  a  time  he  wooed  the  muse  of 
poetry  on  his  own  account,  but  the  courtship  was 
not  successful.  Burgmuller  is  tall,  thin,  with  long 
arms  and  legs,  light-haired,  rosy-faced,  a  nose  a  la 
Kalmuck,  a  projecting  forehead,  small,  lively,  spark- 
ling blue  eyes. 

Passing  his  arm  within  Paul's,  the  German  turned 
in  the  direction  of  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens.  There 
were  two  men  in  Burgmuller — the  clever  critic,  and 
the  fop.  He  was  a  singular  combination  of  ingenu- 
ousness and  of  experience — of  materialist  and  spirit- 
ualist. As  the  two  friends  were  going  along  the  Rue 
de  Helder,  they  met  a  very  pretty  woman.  Ernst 
stopped  in  his  learned  dissertation  on  Chardin,  to 
say  in  a  stage  whisper :  "  Do  you  observe  her — an 
angel — the  Duchesse  de  Belay  (all  the  heroines  of 
Ernst's   adventures  are   duchesses   and   comtesses) 


"  JEUNE  FILLE  AU   NOM  MALE."  Ill 

Last  year  1  was  at  her  chateau — clCai  et'e  ein  ph 
amoareux  cVeUe." 

"  Comment!  mauvais  sujet — only  last  year — and 
it  is  at  an  end  ?"  said  Paul,  smiling.  Ernst's  friends 
have  no  faith  in  his  conquests,  but  it  amuses  them 
to  hear  him  boast. 

"  Pray  have  you  ever  met  among  your  goddesses 
a  Miss  Aurora  Dale  ?" 

"  Aurora  !  Hubert !  mais,  mon  cher,  cKai  et'e — 
je  sicis  pocoup  amoureux  de  la  bella  Aurora.  She 
is  a  Muse — a  Fairy.  You  should  see  her  when  she 
is  listening  to  a  symphony  of  Beethoven  or  Men- 
delssohn. She  inhales  the  music  through  every  pore 
of  her  divine  body — her  lips  part  with  an  angel's 
smile — her  eyes — ach  !  mein  lieber  Gott — they  be- 
come profound  and  luminous  as  the  heaven  of  a  mid- 
summer night.  Know  Aurora !  why,  I  adore  her," 
and  the  speaker  sighed  and  colored.* —  CK'ai  tetang 
le  cceur  ein  betit  chartin  de  Marie — ein  Meines  Ma- 
riengarten  comme  nous  tisons  nous  autres  Allemands. 
Where  have  you  seen  my  Aurora  ?" 

"  She  came  to  my  atelier  to-day,  to  compliment  me 
on  the  last  picture  I  exhibited." 

"  That  is  Aurora,  altogether ;  but  do  not  mistake, 
my  dear  Baul.  She  is  very  wise  and  good,  and  un- 
derstands the  self-government  of  her  country  folks. 
Her  heart  has  never  yet  spoken — eh,  mon  Tieu — 
when  it  does  ! ! !" 


*  J'ai  dedans  mon  cceur  un  petit  jardin  de  Marie  comme 
nous  disons  nous  autres  Allemands. 


112  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"Are  you  one  of  the  Saturday  list,"  asked  Paul. 

"  Without  doubt.  We  will  go  together  if  you 
please.  Ah  !  she  is  a  Muse — a  Fairy  ....  but  this 
is  where  we  are  to  find  the  Chardin." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

LIONS. 

Every  house  reveals  something  of  the  sph-it  of 
those  who  dwell  in  it.  Our  personality  impresses 
itself  on  everything  that  habitually  surrounds  us. 

The  salon  into  which  Paul  was  ushered  on  the 
Saturday  afternoon,  seemed  to  him  something  be- 
tween an  atelier,  a  bric-a-brac  shop,  and  a  green- 
house. 

There  was  a  confusion,  but  a  graceful  confusion 
of  pictures,  articles  of  virtu,  and  flowers  and  plants. 

The  young  lady  of  the  house,  at  that  instant, 
looked  out  of  keeping  with  her  framing.  She  was 
dressed  most  prosaically  in  the  very  height  of  the 
last  fashion,  while,  to  be  in  harmony  with  her  sur- 
roundings, she  ought  to  have  been  habited  like 
some  sylvan  nymph. 

At  the  moment  of  Paul's  entrance  she  was  stand- 
ing by  a  marble  basin,  placed  in  a  bay  window, 
opening  into  a  portico,  from  which  you  descended 
by  a  broad  flight  of  steps  into  the  garden.  The 
basin  had  been  picked  up  by  Mr.  Dale  at  Rome  ;  it 
was  discolored  and  full  of  cracks,  but  exquisite  in 
form.  It  had,  properly  speaking,  no  supporting 
column.  A  youth,  sitting  on  a  step,  held  it  up  with 
outstretched  arms.     It  was  an  article  of  faith  with 

8 


114  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

father  and  daughter  that  the  font  was  antique  and 
unique. 

Aurora,  in  her  Magazine  de  Mode  dress,  held  a 
common  teacup  in  her  hand,  filled  with  half-boiled 
rice.  She  gave  Paul  and  Ernst  a  nod  and  a  smile ; 
then  blowing  a  tiny  silver  whistle,  she  exclaimed, 
"  See  how  well  they  hear  !"  She  spoke  in  a  tone  of 
rapture  that  was  exaggerated  (if  you  please),  as 
some  three  or  four  gold-fish  rose  to  the  surface  of 
the  water  in  the  basin. 

"  The  very  stones  would  move  at  your  call,"  said 
Ernst. 

"  That's  a  piece  of  the  commonest  blarney,"  re- 
plied Aurora.  "  I  am  not  glad  because  the  fish 
came  to  my  whistle.  I  am  glad  because  they  hear. 
Nature  is  too  full  of  harmony  for  me  to  believe  that 
any  species  of  living  creatures  is  created  deaf,  or 
dumb,  or  blind." 

"  You  ought  to  send  away  your  pets,  Aurora," 
said  a  grave,  sweet  voice. 

It  came  from  a  gentleman  with  a  head  which  might 
have  suited  a  Jupiter  Clemens.  Mr.  Dale  was  as 
handsome  for  a  man  as  his  daughter  for  a  woman, 
with  the  additional  charm  of  repose  of  manner. 

"  Why,  father  ?" 

"  Because  in  keeping  them  here  you  make  them 
die  gradually  of  starvation.  All  gold-fish  in  globes 
or  small  basins  suffer  that  terrible  death." 

"  Where's  their  native  place,  father  ?" 

"  China,  my  dear." 

"  People  manage  to  bring  silkwonns  from  thence, 


LIONS.  115 

and  I'll  manage  to  send  back  ray  beauties.  To- 
morrow they  shall  depart  for  their  native  land," 
said  Aurora,  throwing  away  her  whistle. 

"  Better  send  them  to  the  ponds  in  the  Park,"  re- 
turned her  father. 

"  It's  horrible  to  think  they  are  perhaps  in  pain 
at  this  moment,"  went  on  Aurora,  thrusting  her 
fingers  through  the  elaborate  arrangement  of  her 
hair  with  a  boy's  gesture. 

The  disarray  of  her  head  gave  her  a  new  charm. 
Every  eye  of  the  half-dozen  men  in  the  room  rested 
on  her  with  admiration. 

Aurora  was  neither  a  coquette  nor  vain.  You 
needed  to  be  in  her  company  only  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  to  find  that  out.  But  those  who  knew  her 
best  uttered  many  a  "  God  knows !"  and  shook 
their  heads  when  they  spoke  of  Aurora's  future. 
She  will  be  something — but  what  ?  There  is  ever 
perilous  stuff  in  a  gifted  woman. 

She  was  the  only  woman  at  dinner,  yet  she  was 
as  unembarrassed  as  a  child.  The  guests  were  all 
men  of  some  artistic  value.  Besides  Paul  and 
Btirgmuller,  there  was  Valton,  the  fashionable  com- 
poser of  songs,  a  short,  stout  man,  with  a  rubicund 
face,  intelligent  eyes,  and  thick  lips. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  our  Orpheus  ?"  whispered 
Aurora  to  Paul,  whom,  as  the  stranger,  she  had  called 
to  sit  by  her. 

"  He  looks  a  good  fellow — something  of  a  gas- 
tronome." 

"He  is  one  of  the  delights  of  my  life,"  said  the 


116  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

young  hostess.  "  Always  good-humored ;  always 
obliging ;  always  in  tune  with  every  one.  If  you 
mean  to  be  friends  with  me,  you  must  be  friends 
with  Valton.  It's  an  immense  compliment  his  com- 
ing here  every  Saturday.  He  is  so  run  after  that  he 
never  dines  or  breakfasts  at  home.  I  am  perfectly 
indifferent  to  what  we  have  for  dinner  any  other  day, 
but  I  always  ask  for  the  bill  of  fare  on  Saturday 
morning;  I  am  so  afraid  of  losing  him." 

"  And  all  for  the  sake  of  his  voice  ?"  said  Paul. 

"  His  voice  ?  no,  it  is  cracked ;  but  for  his  genius. 
He  is  a  real  genius.  No  one  who  was  not  a  genius 
could  do  what  he  does.  Every  morning  he  composes 
a  song — words  and  all.  Jumps  out  of  bed  at  ten 
precisely — runs  to  his  piano — plays  the  song  that  he 
has  in  his  head — writes  it  down,  and  then  consults 
his  almanac  to  see  with  what  sublimity  or  excellency 
he  is  to  breakfast  and  dine  that  day.  He  is  so 
good ;  always  ready  to  sing  or  play  at  whist,  dance, 
walk.  Never  contradicts.  Oh !  he  is  the  best  of 
men !" 

Paul  looked  at  her,  supposing  her  to  be  joking ; 
but  he  saw  she  was  thoroughly  in  earnest. 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  resemble  M.  Valton,  to  please 
you  ?" 

"  Nature  made  him,  and  then  broke  the  mould," 
answered  Aurora,  gravely.  "  I  shall  never  find  an- 
other Valton ;  and  one  of  these  days  I  shall  lose  him. 
Alas,  alas !  he  is  sure  to  have  an  apoplexy !" 

Paul  laughed. 

"Don't  laugh,"  she  said,  stamping  her  foot.     "I 


LIONS.  117 

am  serious.     I  shall  be  wretched  if  he  dies ;  and  he 
will  eat  so  much.     It's  the  only  bit  of  obstinacy  in 

him." 

]\Ir.  Dale  swallowed  his  dinner  in  silence.  He  did 
not  appear  to  consider  the  men  at  his  table  as  his 
guests;  he  left  them  to  Aurora.  Twice  his  eyes 
turned  toward  and  rested  on  Paul.  After  a  third 
investigating  glance,  he  asked  his  neighbor,  Ernst, 
""Who  the  stranger  was?"  Hearing  that  it  was 
Latour  de  la  Mothe,  he  sent  the  servant  round  to 
invite  Paul  to  join  him  in  a  glass  of  champagne.  It 
was  rare  that  Aurora  hit  on  any  one  suited  to  her 
father's  refined  taste.  Mr.  Dale  was  fastidious  in 
everything — most  so  in  art.  Paul  ranked  high  in  his 
estimation  as  a  painter. 

After  dinner  the  whole  party  went  into  the  gar- 
den to  enjoy  the  freshness  of  the  evening.  The  men 
all  took  their  cigars,  and  for  a  moment  Paul  feared 
and  expected  to  see  Aurora  do  the  same.  She  was 
satisfied,  however,  with  inhaling  the  odor,  declaring 
it  was  as  pleasant  to  her  as  the  perfume  of  roses. 

Mr.  Dale  passed  his  arm  through  one  of  Paul's, 
and  leading  him  into  one  of  the  more  retired  walks, 
began  a  dissertation  on  modern  painting,  giving  the 
preference,  as  such  a  man  was  sure  to  do,  to  the  an- 
cient masters.  In  spite  of  his  companion's  treasures 
of  knowledge,  and  undoubted  good  taste,  Paul's  at- 
tention wandered  to  the  strange  girl  with  the  free 
step  of  a  nymph,  flitting  across  their  path  every  now 
and  then,  and  whom  lie  heard  talking  with  great  an- 
imation to  a  tall,  thin,  pale,  wild-eyed,  young  man 


118  A   PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

•with  long  dishevelled  locks  flowing  over  his  shoul- 
ders. 

At  the  close  of  one  of  Mr.  Dale's  most  erudite 
periods,  Paul  inquired  the  name  of  the  gentleman 
who  was  giving  his  arm  to  Mademoiselle  Dale. 

"  He  bears  a  great  name,"  said  Mr.  Dale.  "  That 
is  Georges  Tully  de  la  Belusson.  Eccentric,  but 
talented,  he  is  as  devoted  to  chivalry  as  ever  was 
Don  Quixote,  and  has  gained  among  his  intimates 
the  nickname  of  the  '  Don.'  He  is  a  poet.  Aurora 
admires  his  poetry.  It  is  rather  too  mystical  for 
me.  Tully  is  a  man  born  out  of  time ;  he  belongs 
to  the  middle  a2.es.  He  has  a  horror  of  the  modern 
spirit  of  democracy,  and  looks  on  equality  as  a  de- 
gradation." 

"  His  '  Ode  to  the  Pourgeois'  (Bourgeois)  is  the  best 
thing  he  has  ever  written,"  said  Ernst,  who,  tired  of 
being  overlooked  by  Aurora,  had  come  to  Paul's 
side.  "  Come,  Tully,  recite  to  us  your  famous  im- 
precation, "  Fous  mourrez,  gorgez  (Por  et  clout  soullez 
depone." 

A  burst  of  laughter  saluted  the  quotation,  and  the 
accent  of  the  quoter. 

"Monsieur  Biirgniulleer,"  said  Georges  Tully, 
"when  you  wish  to  excite  merriment,  let  me  beg 
you  to  do  so  at  the  expense  of  some  other  poetry 
than  mine." 

"  Dear  Monsieur  Valton,  give  us  some  harmony 
to  cure  Ernst's  discord."  And,  so  saying,  Aurora 
led  the  way  up  the  steps. 

Valton  sang  with  a  taste  and  a  spirit  that  made 


LIONS.  119 

Paul,  the  only  stranger  to  his  singing,  forget  his 
cracked  voice.  Xo  one  who  ever  heard  Valton  sing 
" Le  Ronhomme  jaclis"  or  " Les  £tccherons"  will 
ever  forget  his  singing. 

After  Valton  had  finished,  there  was  a  general  pe- 
tition to  Aurora  that  she  would  sing. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  mood.  I  am  stupid.  I  have 
forgotten  all  about  music.  What  is  it  ?  Can  any 
one  explain?  No,  for  it  is  of  heaven,  and  we  are 
of  earth — earthy."  And  she  ran  through  the  win- 
dow back  into  the  garden. 

"Let  her  alone  ein pb  {tin  peu),"  said  Ernst ;  "it 
is  some  inspiration  that  is  struggling  in  her  soul. 
I  will  implore  Tully  to  recite  something  for  us. 
That  will  reconcile  him  to  me." 

The  good-natured  German  went  to  the  Don  and 
said — 

"My  very  dear  M.  Tully,  here  is  an  opportunity 
to  be  kind;  give  us  ce  pauvre  Hamlet's  monologue." 

Monsieur  Tully  frowned  on  the  speaker,  and  Paul 
thought  he  was  about  to  refuse  ;  buJL  the  next  in- 
stant the  Don  was  on  his  feet. 

He  was  really  terrific,  and  so  rapt  were  his  lis- 
teners in  his  words  that  they  did  not  perceive  Au- 
rora re-enter  the  room.  At  his  last  words  she  sat 
down  to  the  piano,  and  in  tones  both  passionate  and 
brusque,  broke  into  a  wild  ditty  that  had  in  it  the 
savor  of  the  desert ;  it  might  have  suited  Ophelia 
had  Ophelia  been  an  Aurora.  She  carried  every  one 
present  away  into  the  regions  of  passion  and  fancy ; 
keeping  them  there  as  long  as  she  pleased ;   they 


120  A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 

were  intoxicated  alike  by  her  look  and  her  voice. 
All  at  once  she  broke  the  spell,  by  striking  a  series 
of  discords,  ending  in  a  charge  d 'atelier. 

All  Mr.  Dale's  guests  returned  to  Paris  together. 
To  Paul's .  enthusiastic  admiration  of  Aurora,  the 
Don  replied  gloomily,  "  She  is  a  goddess,  and  not  a 
woman :  The  love  of  a  mere  man  will  never  find  ac- 
ceptance with  her." 


CHAPTER    XII. 

DEFINITIONS. 

Paul  was  like  one  in  the  first  stage  of  intoxica- 
tion— fast  losing  sight  of  reality.  He  had  returned 
from  Versailles  madly  in  love  with  Aurora.  She 
was  the  first  woman  who  had  thoroughly  dethroned 
Madame  Aubry.  Sunday  was  interminably  long  to 
him,  though  the  evening  was  pleasant  enough,  as 
Madame  Saincere  encouraged  him  to  speak  of  his 
new  idol.  As  for  Regina,  who  was  sitting  by,  she 
counted  for  nothing. 

"  You  can  form  no  idea  of  this  English  or  Irish 
girl  from  description,"  said  Paul.  "She  lost  her 
mother  \>"aen  she  was  only  ten  years  old,  and  since 
then  she  has  been  her  own  mistress.  Her  father 
left  the  bridle  loose  on  her  neck,  and  she  has  taken 
advantage  of  her  liberty  to  range  in  any  pasture 
she  pleased.  She  haunts  painters'  studios,  is  ac- 
quainted with  most  of  the  celebrities  of  Paris,  reads 
Hegel,  knows  German,  Italian,  Sanscrit ;  is  an  in- 
spired musician,  has  the  head  of  a  cherub,  and  the 
intellect  of  a  man  of  genius  ;  in  short,  she  is  more 
like  what  we  imagine  a  goddess  to  be  than  a  wo- 
man of  flesh  and  blood. 

"  Ah !  poor  child,  what  will  be  her  fate !"  said 
Madame  Saincere.     "  She  is  evidently  not  fitted  to 


122  A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 

be  a  wife  and  mother — for  the  ordinary  conditions 
of  humanity." 

"And  why  not?"  asked  Paul,  sharply. 

"  You  might  as  well  expect  a  bird  to  creej) ;  it  is 
contrary  to  her  nature.  No,  no,  Paul !  such  as  this 
Aurora  are  born  to  adorn  a  pedestal,  not  to  sit  ttte- 
d-tete  at  the  fireside  with  a  husband,  or  to  hush  a 
teething  child." 

"  I  should  have  expected  such  observations  from 
my  mother,  who  has  a  prejudice  against  artistic 
tastes  in  man  or  woman,  but  not  from  you." 

"  Think  me  as  commonplace  as  you  will,  Paul,  but 
I  assure  you  from  experience  that  an  artist  woman 
is  rarely  happy  herself,  or  gives  happiness.  Per- 
haps it  is  an  instinct  of  the  dangers  attending  any 
of  our  sex,  who,  by  special  gifts,  is  forced  out  of 
the  ordinary  routine  of  life,  which  makes  us  look 
askance  at  a  woman  of  genius4br  the  wife  of  a  son 
or  brother." 

"In  short,  you  patronize pot-au-feu  wives." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  No  man  likes  to  find  kimsejf  thrown 
in  the  shade  by  his  wife.  I  have  known  of  quarrels 
and  even  of  separations  arising  between  persons 
once  fondly  attached,  and  all  for  jealousy  of  the 
world's  applause." 

"  Very  2)Oor  specimens  of  human  nature  they  mu<t 
have  been  been,"  replied  Paul,  dryly. 

"  Human  nature  is  made  up  of  grandeur  and  mean- 
ness." 

"  Good-night,  aunt.  I  never  yet  met  the  woman 
who  did  not  decry  superiority  in  another  woman." 


DEFINITIONS.  123 

He  went  away,  forgetful  even  of  his  usual  "  Bon 
soir,  Mademoiselle  Regina." 

"My  dear,"  said  Madame  Saincere  to  her  prote- 
gee, "you  may  thank  God  that  he  has  not  given 
you  extraordinary  talents.  Pot-au-feu  wives,  as 
Paul  sneeringly  calls  domestic  women,  are  the  happy 
women.  They  sit  at  home,  and  live,  not  in  them- 
selves, but  in  their  husbands.  Nothing  touches  me 
more  than  when  I  see  some  simple  little  woman  fall- 
ing down  in  spirit  before  her  husband.  I  never  be- 
lieve so  heartily  in  the  goodness  of  Providence  as 
when  I  hear  one  of  these  pot-au-feu  wives  puffing 
her  husband  and  trying  to  make  me  share  her  faith 
that  he  is  the  best  and  cleverest  of  men.  I  hope  to 
hear  you  do  so  one  of  these  days,  Regina." 

The  silent  girl  received  her  protectress's  kiss,  and 
then  shut  herself  into  her  own  little  room,  so  glad  of 
the  solitude.  From  the  impatience  with  which  she 
unfastened  that  wonderful  mass  of  hair  coiled  round 
her  head,  she  seemed  to  accuse  it  as  the  cause  of 
the  aching  of  her  temples.  She  stared  at  herself  in 
the  glass  Math  that  storm-cloud  of  tresses  surround- 
ing her  face.  The  varnish  given  by  education  and 
the  civilization  of  Paris  had  vanished.  She  looked 
the  gipsy — the  undoubted  daughter  of  a  zingaro 
father.  She  sat  contemplating  herself  with  piercing 
eyes;  pride  dilating  her  nostrils — wild  grief  drag- 
ging downward  her  red  lips. 

How  her  child's  bosom  was  wrung,  beaten,  torn, 
by  jealousy  !  How  she  wept  over  her  dark  skin  and 
her  black  hair  ! — the  origin,  as  she  thought,  of  all  her 


124  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

evil.  She  was  so  lonely  in  the  world.  She  longed 
so  for  a  mother's  heart  to  lean  on.  Madame  Sain- 
cere praised  her  for  being  inferior — a  mother  would 
not  have  done  so. 

"  Ah  !  mother,  mother !  to  have  given  her  life  and 
then  left  her  alone." 

The  next  morning  the  maid  found  her  sleeping  in 
her  chair,  the  candle  burned  out. 

What  a  struggle  she  had  to  be  patient  with  the 
inquisitive  Annette,  who  wanted  to  know  why  and 
wherefore  Mademoiselle  had  not  slept  in  her  bed  ! 

Annette  stood  with  one  arm  akimbo;  her  right 
hand  busy  with  a  toothpick. 

"  Mademoiselle  must  be  ill,  or  unhappy  ?" 

She  was  looking  very  pale  when  she  went  to  bed. 
Annette  had  noticed  this,  though  Madame  Saincere 
had  not. 

"  I  am  neither  ill,  nor  unhappy,  Annette.  I  was 
very  tired  and  I  fell  asleep.the  moment  I  was  alone." 

"Let  me  feel  your  pulse." 

Regina  jumped  up,  ran  to  the  wash-hand  table  and 
plunged  her  face  into  a  basin  of  cold  water. 

"  Is  that  a  sick  face  ?"  turning  it  all  rosy  to  An- 
nette. 

"  Nbm  (Pun  nom — if  you  had  always  that  color 
you  would  be  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  Paris." 

"  Ah  !  but  I  can't  have  it,  nor  a  fair  skin,  and  I 
shall  always  be  what  I  am." 

Annette  told  Madame  Saincere  that  Regina  was 
not  welL 


DEFINITIONS.  125 

To  Madame  Saincere's  questions  Regina  replied, 
*  I  am  as  well  as  ever  I  was  in  my  life." 

"  How  came  you  not  to  go  to  bed  ?" 

"  I  sat  down  for  an  instant  and  stupidly  fell  asleep. 
It  has  done  me  no  harm,  dear  madame." 

When  Regina  returned  a  fortnight  after  to  the 
Hue  Blanche,  she  heard  that  Madame  Latour  w%s  in 
Paris,  staying  with  Paul. 

Madame  Latour  came  in  the  afternoon,  and  it  was 
easy  to  read  trouble  in  her  face.  The  sisters  spoke 
to  one  another  in  a  low  voice.  Regina  took  a  book, 
went  to  the  furthest  corner  of  the  room,  and  tried  to 
read;  but,  in  spite  of  herself,  she  overheard  that  the 
two  ladies  were  talking  of  Aurora  and  Paul.  It 
seemed  that  the  Irish  girl  was  at  that  very  hour  at 
the  atelier,  and  that  Madame  Latour  was  convinced 
that  she  was  about  to  endure  the  misfortune  of  a 
wish  granted— that  it  was  pretty  certain  she  should 
have  a  Protestant  for  a  daughter-indaw. 

There  was  a  noise  in  Regina's  ears  sounding  as 
loud  as  thunder,  and  then  she  became  aware  that 
Madame  Latour  was  asking  her  if  she  would  go  out 
on  a  shopping  expedition. 

Regina  said  yes,  and  tried  to  lay  aside  her  book, 
but  it  fell  from  her  hands. 

"  You  are  not  looking  as  you  did  at  Juvigny,"  ob- 
served Madame  Latour;  and  then  Madame  Sain- 
cere  for  the  first  time  perceived  that  Regina  was 
thin  and  pale. 

"  But  you  are  quite  well  ?" 


126  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"Perfectly  well,  madame,"  and  Regina  left  the 
salon  to  put  on  her  bonnet  and  cloak. 

"  She  looks  very  delicate — too  delicate,"  said  Ma- 
dame Latour. 

"  I  shall  write  to  Dr.  M to  come  here  this  even- 
ing. She  is  not  strong  ;  her  mother  died  young.  I'll 
have  her  chest  examined.  Poor  little  quiet  mouse,  I 
should  not  like  anything  to  happen  to  her." 

As  Madame  Latour  and  Regina  went  out  of  the 
porte  cocMre  of  Madame  Saincere's  house,  an  elderly 
woman  with  a  young  girl  were  passing.  The  latter 
turned  and  stared  at  Regina"  with  a  pleasant  admir- 
ing look  of  curiosity.  Regina  said,  "  That  must  be 
Mademoiselle  Aurora." 

Madame  Latour  uttered  a  low  groan.  "  She  looks 
like  an  actress.     Oh,  my  poor  Paul !" 

In    the   evening  in  walked  Dr.   M ,  carrying 

something  tied  up  in  a  colored  silk  handkerchief. 
He  placed  his  bundle  carefully  on  the  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  shook  hands  with  Madame 
Saincere,  bowed  to  Madame  Latour  and  Regina, 
then,  seating  himself,  indulged  in  a  large  pinch  of 
snuff. 

Dr.  M was  a  small,  thin,  dark  man,  just  the 

man  to  be  passed  over  in  a  crowd,  if  he  would  have 
consented  to  be  so.  But  there  was  a  buoyancy  in 
his  talent  which  always  brought  him  into  sight.  Con- 
sidering he  was  a  thinker,  he  had  a  wonderful  fluen- 
cy of  language ;  he  talked,  and  never  was  stopped 
by  any  conjecture  that  others  might  like  to  have 
their  turn.     The  world  was  full  of  agreeable  people 


DEFINITIONS.  127 

to  liim,  but  the  world  did  not  return  the  compliment ; 
it  called  him,  tant  soit  peu,  a  bore. 

Madame  Saincere  was  anions?  the  few  who  could 
occasionally  transform  the  doctor  into  a  listener,  but 
even  when  he  talked  longest,  she  never  tired  of  his 
conversation.  The  explanation  was,  that  she  had  an 
extraordinary  curiosity  as  to  all  matters  connected 
with  life  and  death,  and  she  liked  the  doctor  to  tell 
her  of  nerves  and  ganglions,  and  other  mysteries  of 
the  body. 

If  those   in  health   were   alarmed  at   seeing  Dr. 

M t:ike  a  preparatory  pinch  of  snuff",  the  ailing 

declared  him  to  be  perfect;  by  the  sick-bed  he  became 
as  it  were  the  student — the  learner,  hearkening  while 
the  patient  taught  him  the  symptoms  of  the  disease. 
Even  while  just  now  administering  an  extra  dose  to 
his  nose,  his  eyes  were  examining  Regina's  face  and 
figure.  The  silent  scrutiny  over,  he  laid  his  hand  on 
the  package  in  the  silk  handkerchief. 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  rarity — something  that  will 
delight  you ;"  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  withdrew  the  cov- 
ering. 

The  ladies  started  as  he  gave  to  view  two  large 
skulls.  He  first  took  up  one,  and  then  the  other, 
handling  them  with  delight. 

"  You  have  no  idea,  have  you,  Mademoiselle,  that 
you  are  looking  on  the  skulls  of  relations — of  distant 
cousins  ?  Do  you  see  this  ?"  and  he  pointed  out  the 
intermaxillary  bone.  "  All  animals  but  man  have  it 
horizontal ;  well,  you  see  that  here  it  is  similar  to 
yours,"  touching  her  delicate  cheek  and  tracing  the 


128  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

bone  with  his  finger.  "  Very  little,  to  be  sure,  of 
your  ancestors  in  you  or  these  two  ladies,"  he 
added. 

"  But,  sir, — sir  !"  exclaimed  Madame  Latour,  "  you 
are  not  surely  one  of  those  who  set  aside  the  Bible 
history  of  creation  ?" 

"  Creation  here,  creation  there  !  Why,  Madame, 
creation  is  going  on  now  just  as  it  did  in  the  begin- 
ing,  whenever  that  was." 

The  doctor  was  a  bit  of  a  wag,  and  having  found 
an  auditor  not  conversant  with  new  theories,  he  re- 
solved to  improve  his  opportunity.  He  began  with  his 
vesicle  and  his  sea-weed,  and  came  down  link  by  link 
to  the  ape.  "  And  now  here  are  my  two  fingers, 
the  index  and  the  medium  ;  well,  they  happen  to  be 
peculiarly  perfect  of  their  kind — ha,  they  meet,  and 
produce  a  thumb  superior  to  themselves — ha,  the 
thumb  looks  about  and  finds  another  thumb,  and  de- 
velops another  superiority ;  and  so  on,  and  on,  till 
we  arrive  at  the  first  man." 

Madame  Latour's  face  more  than  recompensed  the 
doctor's  trouble.  "And  speech,  sir,  how  did  the 
thumbs  produce  that  ?" 

"Ah,"  he  answered  with  calm  dignity,  "we  are 
mighty  proud;  man  monopolizes  the  privilege  of 
speech,  but  animals  speak,  Madame.  Every  bow- 
wow-wow is  a  phrase;  we  don't  understand  their  ar- 
ticulation more  than  they  do  ours,  but  they  undeni- 
ably communicate  by  means  of  voice  with  one  an- 
other. Stay,  I  will  give  you  an  example:  —  I  was 
paying  a  medical  visit  one  morning  this  spring,  when 


DEFINITIONS.  129 

the  mother  of  the  child  I  was  attending  called  my 
attention  to  two  sparrows  on  an  opposite  wall,  teach- 
ing their  young  to  fly.  The  window  of  the  room  we 
were  in  was  open,  and  one  of  the  fledglings  flew  in  ; 
my  little  patient  began  a  chase,  and  when  he  had 
caught  the  blunderer,  I  pointed  out  to  the  lady  and 
her  child  the  distress  of  the  parent  birds — their  pier- 
cing cries  spoke  as  clearly  to  me  as  any  words  could 
have  done.  The  poor  captive  was  put  outside  the 
window  ;  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  the  tones  with 
which  the  old  birds  welcomed  back  their  lost  one, 
tones  as  different  from  those  of  the  anguish  of  the  in- 
stant before,  as  any  of  us  could  find  to  express  a 
change  of  feeling.  Mademoiselle  Rachel  herself 
could  have  found  none  more  touching:."  The  doctor's 
eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  But  that  is  not  a  proof  of  speech,  sir." 

"  Not  of  our  way  of  speaking,  I  allow.  But  did 
you  ever  hear  a  newly-caught  savage  speak  ?  and 
would  his  speech  appear  more  human  to  you  than 
the  yelping  of  your  pug  dog  ?  See  here,  Mademoi- 
selle Regina :  this  skull  of  the  female  gorilla  is  far 
more  intellectual  than  that  of  the  male — something- 
in  favor  of  women.  Madame  Gorilla  is  less  bestial 
than  her  mate — refined  by  her  maternity,  I  conjec- 
ture. There  has  been  great  selection  in  your  case," 
he  added,  with  a  sudden  perception  of  her  beauty. 
"  But  you  are  too  thin.    What's  wrong  ?  No  cough  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  Sleep  well  ?" 

"  Oil  yes." 

9 


130  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  Good  appetite  ?" 

"Excellent." 

"  Ha  !"     He  took  her  hand.     "  H'm  !  rather  hot 
pulse  a  little  irregular.     Change  of  air  and  scene  for 
her ;    that's  all  that's   necessary ;    and  she'll  be  as 
blooming  as  a  rose." 


3 

I 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

CAPRICES   AND   DREAMS. 

Saturday  had  come  round  again,  and  Paul  set  off 
for  Versailles  with  an  eagerness  that  belonged  to  the 
days  before  he  had  ever  left  Juvigny — to  those  early 
days  when  he  would  have  thought  it  impossible  any 
woman  save  Adeline  could  ever  accelerate  the  beat 
of  his  heart. 

Aurora  had  given  him  two  sittings,  and  then  had 
neglected  to  come  on  the  days  she  had  appointed. 
Paul  had  felt  aggrieved,  and  had  taken  his  seat  in 
the  railway  carriage,  some  anger  mingling  with  his 
eagerness.  He  prepared  several  little  ironical  com- 
pliments for  the  fair  inconstant. 

As  he  walked  from  the  station  to  Mr.  Dale's  house, 
it  was  wonderful  how  his  irritability  subsided.  The 
atmosphere  (it  was  one  of  the  last  days  of  Septem- 
ber) was  delicious :  great  lazy  clouds  veiled  the  blue 
of  the  sky,  and  every  now  and  then  there  was  a 
slight  motion  in  the  air,  a  touch  of  sharpness  that 
braced  his  nerves  and  quickened  his  step.  The 
poplars  bordering  the  way  had  leaves  of  pale  gold, 
while  the  buildings  in  the  far  perspective  were  of 
a  deep  bluish-gray.  The  eye  of  the  painter  revelled 
in  this  harmonious  combination.  "  Ah  !  how  cun- 
ningly nature  works  !"  thought  he.  "  We  are  always 
beaten  by  her." 


132  A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 

The  walk  had  done  what  a  soft  answer  does  to  the 
angry.     His  whole  being  was  in  excellent  tune  when 

he  rang  the  bell  of  No.  119,  Rue ,  his  fancy  full 

of  the  pleasantest  images. 

He  passed  his  fingers  through  the  waves  of  his 
hah",  and  entered  the  salon  with  a  smile. 

Aurora  was  there  alone,  dressed  all  in  white,  as 
lovely  as  any  fabled  nymph.  Thought  travels  fast, 
and  Paul,  as  he  approached  her,  said  to  himself, 
"  Little  coquette !  she  neglects  me  only  to  make 
more  sure  of  attracting  me."  The  clever  man  never 
doubted  that  she  had  dressed  herself  so  artistically 
expiessly  for  him.  This  persuasion  gave  boldness 
to  his  eyes  and  self-satisfaction  to  his  smile.  He 
might,  had  be  been  less  occupied  with  himself,  have 
observed  an  expression  of  astonishment  steal  into 
Aurora's  face  as  he  came  toward  her.  Spread  out 
before  her  was  a  lai-ge  sheet  of  the  common  brown 
paper  used  for  herbariums.  He  leaned  down  over 
her  in  a  very  lover-like  manner,  and  said — 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  a  botanist.  What  a 
universal  woman  you  are  !" 

"  I  don't  know  the  first  syllable  of  botany.  I  am 
only  admiring  and  wondering.  Monsieur  Saint 
Leon,  the  new  poet,  you  know,  has  been  so  good  as 
to  bring  me  some  of  his  dried  flowers,  gathered  in 
his  last  tour." 

While  she  was  yet  speaking,  a  young  man  ran  up 
the  steps  from  the  garden,  holding  in  his  hand  a 
large  tuft  of  some  plant. 

The   moment    the    painter   saw   M.  Antonin   St. 


OAPBICES   AND   DREAMS.  133 

Leon,  he  perceived  a  possibility  of  Aurora  not  hav- 
ing dressed  for  M.  Paul  Latour. 

"This  is  the IAnwria  Cyrribala/ria"  said  the  new- 
comer, in  a  voice  neither  smooth  nor  musical,  but 
which  had  tones  in  it  that  acted  pleasantly  on  your 
nerves,  as  does  the  subtle  perfume  of  aromatic  moun- 
tain-herbs, lie  was  not  nearly  so  handsome  as  Paul, 
but  as  the  poet  sings,  "La  beaute  n'est  pas  toute 
aux  lignes  clu  visage  .""  there  was  the  same  charm  in 
M.  Antonin's  face  as  in  his  voice :  in  a  word  he  was 
like  what  girls  imagine  a  poet  to  be. 

Aurora  named  the  two  gentlemen  to  one  another, 
but  there  was  no  radiation  of  sympathy  between 
them.  Paul  sat  down  a  little  distance  from  his  host- 
ess, and  drawing  an  album  toward  him,  seemed  to 
be  examining  the  photographs  it  contained. 

"There  is  plenty  of  it  at  your  very  door,"  went 
on  M.  Antonin,  alluding  to  the  plant  he  had  brought 
in.     "  Enough  to  suspend  in  half-a-dozen  baskets." 

"  What  a  dear  little  flower !"  exclaimed  Aurora, 
enthusiastic  about  the  flower,  because  pleased  with 
the  finder  of  it. 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  poet,  and  the  two  heads 
approached  perilously  near — so  near  that  one  of  Au- 
rora's long  golden  curls  fluttered  over  M.  Antonin's 
peaked  beard.  Paul  saw  the  young  man  give  a 
start  as  though  he  had  received  an  electric  shock, 
and  his  head  went  quite  down  to  the  table.  He  was 
short-sighted,  probably.  "Here's  the  reason  of  its 
being  called  Cymbalaria ;  the  bud  is  in  the  shape 
of  a  boat." 


134  A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 

"  Oh  !  so  it  is.  How  pretty  !  What  a  dear  fairy- 
barque  !"  How  describe  that  caressing  sound  which 
a  woman's  voice  assumes  when  her  heart  suddenly 
feels  a  new  and  unknown  sympathy.  A  succession 
of  exclamations  followed  in  an  harmonic  scale. 
"  Flowers  are  the  only  things  we  can  look  at  with 
pleasure  when  they  are  dead,"  she  said,  turning  over 
the  leaves  of  the  herbarium.  "This  ivory-hued, 
graceful  Pamassia  Palustris  makes  me  think  of  a 
young  girl  dead.  Wouldn't  that  do  as  a  subject 
for  a  poem  ?  Write  one,  will  you  ?"  and  her  eyes 
turned  to  M.  Antonin  with  a  strange  anxious  ex- 
pression. 

The  silence  that  ensued  made  Paul  look  up.  M. 
St.  Leon  was  a  pale  man,  but  he  had  certainly  be- 
come paler. 

"Xe  diner  est  servi"  said  old  Baptiste's  voice, 
very  djyropos,  for  the  conversation  was  taking  a  sen- 
timental turn,  very  embarrassing  when  there  are 
three  present. 

That  evening  Aurora  was  in  one  of  her  maddest 
moods.  She  launched  the  most  piquant  words  right 
and  left,  sacrificing  even  Valton  pitilessly.  She 
called  St.  Leon'  "  le  petit  dernier"  was  satirical,  even 
a  little  ill-natured  to  him.  She  sang  with  a  passion 
that  bordered  on  frenzy.  At  eleven  o'clock,  when 
the  gentlemen  were  about  to  take  leave,  nothing 
would  satisfy  her  but  that  instead  of  going  away 
they  should  accompany  her  to  the  Bois  de  Satory. 

"M.  St.  Leon  must  go  and  adore  her  patroness, 
Madonna  Luna — they  must  go  and  give  themselves 


CAPRICES  AND   DREAMS.  135 

to  Nature,  let  her  take  hold  of  their  hearts,  and  make 
them  forget  this  periwig  world." 

Valton  whispered  to  her — 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  you  cannot  go  alone  wTith 
us  men." 

"  Why  not  ?  won't  you  do  as  well  as  la  vieille 
vipere  ? — meaning  Marthe.  "  Call  her  then,  and  light 
your  cigars;  they  will  give  fire  to  the  conversa-. 
tion.  I  am  going  to  tell  le  petit  dernier  that  his 
verses  creak  like  new  shoes.  You  shake  your  head 
pitifully,  in  the  fashion  of  the  buried  or  unburied 
majesty  of  Denmark." 

One  quarter  of  an  hour  Aurora  was  talking  ti-ans- 
cendentalisms — the  next,-  slang.  She  took  off  her 
straw  hat,  filled  it  with  wild-flowers,  told  St.  Leon 
he  must  play  Bottom  to  her  Titania,  and  put  a  gar- 
land round  his  hat.  Valton  must  sing.  He  did  so ; 
giving  with  all  his  own  magic  "I? Amour  Ma- 
temel." 

"  Beautiful,  my  dear  friend,  if  it  were  true.  The 
only  descending  of  maternal  love  I  ever  knew,  was 
in  blows  on  my  head  and  shoulders,"  said  Aurora. 

It  was  three  o'clock  before  they  got  Aurora  home 
again.  Mr.  Dale  was  at  the  window  watching  for 
her  retui-n.  That  was  the  only  sign  he  gave  of 
fatherly  anxiety. 

"  You  must  all  of  you  come  in,"  said  Aurora. 

"  We  have  one  spare  room — St.  Leon's  piteous 
face  beo-s  for  it — there  are  five  sofas  in  the  salon  for 
the  rest  of  you ;  and  you  shall  have  some  hot  coflee 
before  you  go  away.     Now  isn't  Marthe's  face  exas- 


136  A  PSYCHE   OP  TO-DAY. 

perating  ?  Where's  the  hardship  of  a  walk  by  moon- 
light ?" 

"  Madame  Marthe  is  not  eighteen,"  observed  St, 
Leon. 

"  Is  that  my  fault  ?"  she  asked  petulantly. 

"  What  thorn  has  pricked  our  beautiful  Aurora  ?" 
said  Valton  to  Paul,  as  they  lay  on  opposite  sofas. 
"  I  never  saw  her  in  such  a  mood  as  this  of  to-day." 

"  My  good  friend,  I  am  too  sleepy  to  care  for  any 
goddess,  but  she  of  night." 


The  following  day  being  Sunday,  Paul,  of  course, 
dined  in  the  Rue  Blanche.  That  day  week  his 
aunt's  drawing-room  had  appeared  to  him  dull — 
oppressively  dull.  It  produced  now  quite  a  different 
effect.  Something  like  a  refuge  after  a  day  of  com- 
bat. 

Every  object  was  a  familiar  one.  For  years  Ma- 
dame Saincere  had  received  him,  sitting  in  her  pe- 
culiar chair,  with  the  same  cordial  smile  and  words 
of  welcome.  Nothing  in  the  long-run  pleasanter 
than  the  certainty  of  finding  people  as  you  left  them. 

Regina  was  ensconced  in  the  same  corner,  by  a 
window,  where  he  had  been  accustomned  to  see  her 
for  more  Sundays  than  he  coulcl  easily  count  up. 
She  was  half  hidden  by  a  curtain,  busy,  as  usual, 
with  a  book. 

Madame  Saincere  naturally  questioned  Paul  about 
the  visit  of  the  day  before.  "And  the  charming 
Aurora — was  she  as  charming  as  ever  ?" 


CAPRICES  AND   DREAMS.  137 

"Lovely  as  a  goddess,  and  capricious  as  Puck," 
he  answered. 

J  lis  eyes  wandered  to  the  quiet  girl  in  the  back- 
ground. She  was  undoubtedly  as  beautiful  as  Au- 
rora, though  not  so  brilliant. 

Presently  Madame  Saincere  begged  Regina  to 
inquire  if  the  evening  newspaper  had  come.  As 
Regina  crossed  the  salon  Paul  was  struck  by  her 
manner  of  moving :  it  was  slow,  undulating.  The 
expression  of  her  face  was  grave,  even  to  sadness. 

While  she  was  out  of  the  room  Paul  said — 

"I  never  expected  Mademoiselle  Regina  to  grow 
up  graceful." 

"She  is  not  well,  and  that  has  softened  her  in 
every   way,"   answered    Madame   Saincere.      "Dr. 

M says  she  ought  to  have  change  of  air  and 

scene :  it  must  be  dull  for  her  at  Passy.  And  so, 
as  I  must  go  somewhere  for  the  next  six  weeks,  I 
shall  take  her  to  the  seaside." 

"  When  do  you  go  ?" 

"  In  the  course  of  next  week." 

"  And  where  ?" 

"That's  the  question.  Boulogne,  Dieppe,  Trou- 
ville,  are  all  too  crowded." 

"  Try  St.  Valery,"  said  Paul. 

"  That's  not  a  bad  idea." 

Paul  was  peculiarly  agreeable  that  day  at  dinner. 
He  described  with  so  much  spirit  the  humors  of  Mr. 
Dale's  guests,  that  Regina  laughed  merrily  more 
than  onee — the  first  time  that  Paul  had  ever  heard 
that  pretty  laugh,  ending  with  a  sort  of  little  sigh. 


138  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"Does  Mademoiselle  Aurora  draw  as  well  as  she 
sings?"  It  was  so  wonderful  that  Regina  should 
speak  to  Paul,  except  to  answer  him,  that  this  ques- 
tion, suddenly  put,  astonished  him. 

"Probably,  for  there's  nothing,  I  believe,  she 
could  not  do  if  she  tried." 

"The  society  about  her  will  utterly  spoil  her," 
said  Madame  Saincere. 

"  In  one  way  she  is  already  spoiled  beyond  imag- 
ining," replied  Paul.  "  She  says  and  does  whatever 
she  pleases ;  but  in  spite  of  her  girlish  caprices  and 
follies,  she  is  a  diamond  of  price — a  creature  to  be 
adored  and  scolded." 

"  Diamonds  are  only  fit  for  full-dress,"  returned 
his  aunt,  "  not  suitable  for  everyday  wear — remem- 
ber that,  Paul." 

"If  she  marries  a  man  she  admires  and  loves  she 
will  do  very  well,"  replied  the  nephew. 

Paul  remained  later  than  was  his  wont  that  even- 
ing. 

"  Did  you  ever  feel  you  had  lived  in  a  world  before 
this  ?"  he  asked,  wakening  up  from  a  reverie.  "  I 
have  a  dim  recollection  that  in  some  other  state  of 
being  we  three  have  passed  together  such  an  evening 
as  this." 

"And  can  you  remember  anything  of  Avhat  fol- 
lowed ?"  laughed  Madame  Saincere. 

"  No ;  but  all  we  have  done  and  said  and  looked 
is  as  familiar  to  me  as  a  twice-told  tale." 

"  You  have  been  dozing  and  dreaming.  Good- 
night." 


CAPRICES  AND   DREAMS.  139 

When  Paul  had  gone,  Madame  Saincere  said  to 

Begina — 

"  I  believe  he  is  fairly  caught  this  time  by  Ma- 
demoiselle Aurora." 

"  Do  people  ever  speak  of  the  faults  of  those  they 
love  ?"  asked  Regina. 

"It's  a  pleasure  like  that  we  have  in  irritating  the 
sting  of  a  gnat,"  answered  the  lady. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

A   LITTLE    FOOL. 

Three  days  later  Madame  Saincere  and  Regina 
were  at  St.  Yalery.  They  had  left  Paris  so  early  in 
the  morning  that  none  but  market-carts  and  street- 
sweepers  were  astir.  Regina  kept  her  head  out  of 
the  coach  window,  to  hide  from  her  companions  that 
her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  She  could  not  bear  the 
thought  that  she  was  leaving  Paris.  She  envied 
every  passer-by  who  could  remain  there.  She  could 
have  kissed  the  stones  over  which  they  were  jolting. 
"  You  are  sure  you  have  your  keys,  Regina  ?" 
"  Yes,  madame." 

"  I  wisli  the  coachman  would  go  slower ;  we  shall 
be  upset.  You  have  taken  some  warm  clothing 
with  you,  I  hope  ?  Do  you  see  the  basket  with  our 
lunch  ?" 

"  Yes,  madame,"  was  answered  to  both  questions. 
Then  Madame  Saincere  was  afraid  that  the  um- 
brellas had  been  forgotten ;  and  when  they  were 
found  she  and  Annette  had  a  long  and  interesting 
conversation  as  to  the  pour  et  contre  of  the  safety  of 
the  apartment,  left  in  charge  of  the  house-porter  and 
his  wife,  the  cook  having  got  a  holiday. 

During  the  journey  to  St.  Valery,  Regina  sat  with 
her  hands  on  her  knees,  apparently  intent  on  what 
she   could   see  from   the   railway-carnage  window, 


A  LITTLE   FOOL.  141 

while,  in  fact,  she  was  absorbed  by  Iter  thoughts^ 
hearkening  to  an  internal  voice  explaining  to  her  the 
cause  of  her  morning's  tears. 

Madame  Saincere  would  have  held  up  her  hands 
in  despair  could  she  have  known  what  was  passing 
within  that  screen  of  matter,  called  Regina. 

Seeing  the  girl  so  pale,  with  bistre  circles  round 
her  eyes,  and  feeling  her  shudder,  Madame  Saincere 
closed  the  window  and  covered  her  up  with  shawls, 
insisting  on  her  drinking  a  glass  of  wine  and  eating 
a  biscuit.  Madame  Saincere  was  a  thousand  leagues 
away  from  guessing  why  her  protegee  was  pale  and  sad. 

About  the  time  the  travellers  reached  their  desti- 
nation, Aurora  was  giving  Paul  a  sitting.  Her  por- 
trait was  nearly  finished,  and  singularly  resembled 
the  fair  original.  It  was  not  alone  a  faithful  tran- 
script of  her  features,  but  the  painter  had  animated 
them  with  one  of  the  salient  points  of  her  character. 
Every  line,  every  muscle,  had  been  made  to  tell  the 
same  tale.  Valton  had  already  given  the  picture 
the  title  of  "  La  Capricieuse."  Studying  her  ani- 
mated face,  Paul  felt  his  first  enthusiastic  admira- 
tion reviving.  She  was  this  afternoon  so  lively  and 
so  amusing,  that,  by  some  subtle  association  of  ideas, 
he  was  led  again  to  think  of  the  contrast  between 
her  and  the  quiet  girl  in  whose  company  he  had 
spent  the  previous  evening. 

Paul,  dear  young-lady  reader,  is  not  a  hero  of  ro- 
mance :  he  is  a  man,  like  many  of  those  whom  you 
constantly  meet  and  think  well  of.  Men  under 
thirty  do  actually  fall  headlong  in  love;    and,  as 


142  A  PSYCHE   OP  TO-DAY. 

some  one  has  pithily  said,  "  falls  are  bad  things  in 
themselves."  At  five-and-thirty  men  make  up  their 
minds  to  be  in  love  or  not. 

Paul  was  extremely  disposed  to  be  in  love  with 
Aurora. 

After  his  visitor  was  gone,  he  locked  the  ante- 
chamber door,  took  a  cigar,  and  set  to  work  to  give 
the  finishing  touches  to  the  portrait,  while  his  recol- 
lection of  the  original  was  still  vivid.  As  his  brush 
altered  a  tress  of  hair,  or  added  color  to  the  cheek, 
lustre  to  the  eye,  roundness  to  the  throat,  his  reflec- 
tions were  as  follows  : — "  Paul,  be  reasonable ;  marry, 
if  marry  you  must,  so  as  to  have  a  peaceable  home. 
My  aunt  is  right.  Beautiful  Auroras  are  not  made  to 
keep  house,  to  look  after  children,  and  attend  to  the 
comfort  of  husbands.  Your  picture  finished,  dear 
muse,  goddess,  fairy  !     I  must  forget  you." 

Paul  found  the  day  long  and  wearisome.  He  dis- 
covered that  all  those  whom  he  habitually  saw  had 
left  Paris.  Every  one  had  taken  wing  for  the  sea- 
side or  to  some  Baths.  The  Boulevards  were  a 
desert.  The  only  acquaintance  he  met  in  his  after- 
noon's stroll  was  Dr.  M . 

Paul  hailed  him. 

"  What's  wrong  ?"  asked  Dr.  M . 

"Ennui." 

"  You  require  change  of  air,  also  ?"  retorted  the 
doctor.     "  Why  not  go  to  St.  Valery  ?" 

"Why  there?" 

"  Go  elsewhere  if  you  please.     But  I  cannot  stop 
to  discuss  the  point  or  I  shall  miss  my  dinner.     By 


A  LITTLE   FOOL.  143 

a  rare  chance,  I  can  dine  with  my  family  to-day, 
Will  you  come  with  me?" 

Paul,  in  the  extremity  of  his  dulness,  accepted  the 
invitation,  and  got  into  the  doctor's  carriage. 

Though  Paul  had  known  Dr.  M for  the  last 

five  years,  he  had  never  seen  Madame  M . 

The  M family  were  already  at  dinner  when 

the  doctor  unexpectedly  made  his  appearance  with 
a  guest.  Besides  the  wife  and  two  little  girls,  there 
was  the  doctor's  mother.  A  cover  was  quickly 
added  for  Paul;  the  host  taking  his  seat  between 
his  wife  and  mother — the  latter  a  most  reverend- 
looking  personage. 

The  greatest  simplicity  was  visible  in  the  dresses 
of  the  ladies  and  children,  and  in  all  the  arrange- 
ments of  the  table.  After  the  little  embarrassment 
felt  by  recluses  at  the  sight  of  a  stranger  had  passed 

away,  there  was  no  want  of  cheerfulness.    Dr.  M , 

whom  Paul  had  been  accustomed  to  see  everywhere 
usurp  the  lead  in  conversation,  here  was  reduced  to 
playing  the  second  part.  Each  of  the  ladies  and 
children  had  something  interesting  to  relate  to  the 
head  of  the  house,  principally  the  performances  of 
the  little  girls  at  their  day-school. 

After  dinner  the  grandmother  and  granddaughters 
disappeared,  and  then  the  doctor  asserted  himself, 
launching  out  into  one  of  his  most  abstruse  disserta- 
tions. Paul  was  amused,  watching  the  laudable 
efforts  of  the-  wife  to  keep  awake. 

"  Go  to  bed,  my  dear  girl,"  said  the  doctor.  "  M. 
Latour  and  I  will  smoke  in  my  study." 


14A  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  You  are  a  more  fortunate  man  than  I  supposed, 
doctor,"  said  Paul,  between  one  whiff  and  another. 

Dr.  M gave  an  assenting  puff. 

"  There  is  a  delightful  patriarchal  air  about  your 
home  that  I  don't  believe  is  common  in  Paris." 

Another  potent  puff  from  the  doctor ;  who  said, 
with  a  look  in  the  direction  of  the  door  through 
which  his  wife  had  passed,  "  She  is  a  most  excellent 
woman,  simple,  devoted,  and  contented.  Ours  was 
not  a  marriage  lde  ralson?  She  was  extremely 
nicedooking,  and  it  must  have  cost  her  at  first  many 
a  struggle  to  lead  so  retired  a  life ;  but  my  mother 
has  very  strict  notions,  and  it  would  have  been  at 
the  cost  of  never-ending  quarrels  had  Eugenie  gone 
into  the  world,  even  under  the  protection  of  her  own 
family.  As  to  my  accompanying  her,  that  was  out 
of  the  question.  I  felt  for  her,  though  I  said  nothing. 
I  never  heard  her  murmur.  My  mother  told  me  she 
fretted,  but  she  alwavs  received  me  with  a  smile. 
After  the  birth  of  our  first  child,  which  unluckily 
did  not  happen  before  the  fourth  year  of  our  mar- 
riage, she  ceased  even  in  secret  to  care  for  gayeties, 
and  from  that  period  has  become  more  and  more  my 
friend.  I  might  call  her  my  partner  in  business,  so 
well  does  she  manage  when  any  of  my  patients  call 
or  send  daring  my  absence."  The  doctor  and  his 
guest  smoked  some  time  in  silence,  and  then  Dr. 

M added,  "All  depends  on  choosing  what  will 

wear  well.     Nothing  showy  ever  does." 

"  What  you  say  tallies  with  a  conclusion  I  came  to 
this  morning,"  said  Paul.     "Even  while  dreaming 


A  LITTLE   FOOL.  145 

of  a  great  possible  joy,  I  had  a  vision  of  the  conse- 
quences it  might  entail." 

"  Of  the  headache  alter  the  intoxication,"  observed 
the  doctor. 

"Precisely.  Just  as  I  was  about  to  fall  at  the 
feet  of  the  most  enchanting  creature  I  ever  beheld, 
I  foresaw  the  possibility  of  one  day  not  caring  about 
her." 

"  Better  choose  a  woman  at  whose  feet  you  are  not 
ready  to  fall,  and  you  may  end  by  adoring  her. 
How  is  it  you  have  never  thought  of  Mademoiselle 
"Regina  ?" 

"Regina  !"  exclaimed  Paul. 

"Regina,"  affirmed  the  doctor.  "Is  she  not  as 
lovely  as  a  houri?  is  she  not  well  dowered?  is  she 
not  as  good  as  an  angel  ?  isn't  her  whole  life  known 
to  you?     Faith,  you  are  difficult !" 

"But  I  have  not  the  smallest  preference  for  her; 
that  is  to  say,  I  have  a  certain  regard  for  her,  as  one 
has  for  a  child  who  has  grown  up  under  your  eye.  I 
wish  Mademoiselle  Regina  well.  I  take  an  interest; 
in  her,"  went  on  Paul,  like  one  who  is  gradually 
clearing  a  point  to  himself;  "it  would  grieve  me 
ever  to  know  of  any  evil  befalling  her." 

"  That's  enough  to  begin  with,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"  But  she  is  so  cold,  so  silent,  so  little  compan- 
ionable." 

"  Ah  !  I  shouldn't  have  guessed  her  to  be  cold ; 
her  eyes  do  not  betoken  want  of  feeling,  though 
they  are  not  to  be  read  as  you  run.  As  a  physi- 
ologist I  can  assure  you  she  is  not  lymphatic,  a  gen- 

10 


146  A  PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

erous  blood  courses  through  her  veins.     But  what 
the  devil  have  I  to  do  with  making  marriages,"  said 

Dr.   M hastily  ;    and   then   resolutely  mounted 

one  of  his  hobbies,  nor  could  Paul  succeed  in  dis- 
mounting him. 


Madame  Saincere  had  lived  too  long  to  be  easily 
surprised,  but  one  day  she  sat  with  eyes  and  mouth 
open,  "  afraid  with  amazement."  She  had  been 
reading  a  letter  from  her  sister,  and  this  letter  con- 
tained a  formal  proposal  of  marriage  for  Mademoi- 
selle Xolopoeus. 

Paul  proposing  for  Regina !  who  could  ever  have 
dreamed  of  such  a  possibility  ?  And  Madame  Latour 
not  only  consenting,  but  making  the  proposition. 
Paul  had  never  shown  any  attention  to  Regina,  had 
scarcely  seemed  conscious  of  her  existence.  And 
Regina?  Ah!  here  Madame  Saincere  stopped — a 
light  began  to  break  in  upon  her.  She  laughed 
aloud,  though  alone,  and  then  she  re-read  her  sister's 
letter.  It  was  really  true.  Paul  had  told  his  mother 
that  if  she  was  in  earnest  as  to  his  marrying,  she 
must  accept  of  Mademoiselle  Nolopoeus  as  a  daugh- 
ter-in-law; it  was  to  take  or  to  leave;  and  Madame 
Latour,  reflecting  on  the  young  lady's  dot,  her  ami- 
able qualities,  her  connections  on  the  mother's  side, 
had  graciously  consented  to  overlook  the  Bohemian 
father. 

"Paul  then  has  made  sure  of  Regina's  consent," 
thought   Madame  Saincere,  as  she  wrote  back  that 


A   LITTLE  FOOL.  147 

she  must  have  a  conversation  with  Paul  before  she 
mentioned  his  offer  to  Regina. 

She  telegraphed  to  Paris,  and  the  following  day- 
Paul  walked  into  her  little  salon  in  the  hotel  of  the 
"Liond'Or." 

"  You  can  look  me  in  the  face  and  tell  me  that  you 
seriously  wish  to  marry  Regina  ?"  burst  out  Madame 
Saincere. 

"  Certainly  I  have  that  courage,  for  I  mean  to 
many  Regina  if  she  will  have  me." 

"  But  you  do  not  love  her — not  even  according  to 
your  fashion  ?" 

"Perhaps.  Who  knows?  though  I  am  not  aware 
to  what  peculiar  fashion  of  loving  you  allude. 

"  Xo  offence  to  you,  my  good  Paul,  when  I  say 
that  your  fashion  of  loving  has  a  strong  family  re- 
semblance to  that  of  all  men  organized  to  be  poets 
and  artists.  All  genius,  all  exceptional  talent,  is  of 
its  nature  egotistical.  One  like  you,  enamored  of 
your  ait,  will  infallibly  make  a  wretched  husband, 
and  break  the  heart  of  a  woman  with  a  spark  of  feel- 
ing. You  need  not  be  offended,  you  err  in  good 
company.  Take  my  advice,  let  Regina  alone,  and 
marry  some  common-place  girl,  who,  so  long  as  you 
allow  her  plenty  of  pocket-money  and  amusement, 
will  not  trouble  herself  as  to  the  amount  of  your  love 
for  her." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  opinions  and  counsels,  but  1 
fancy  Kegina  will  suit  me  very  well.  I  have  seen 
her  grow  up — she  is  a  good  steady  girl.  I  flatter 
myself  I  do  know  something  of  her  character." 


148  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  Possibly ;  though  you  may  really  be  flattering 
yourself  in  thinking  you  understand  her.  Because 
she  is  undemonstrative,  you  fancy  you  have  found 
a  capital  mill-horse.  Have  a  care,  Paul ;  my  idea 
is,  that  she  will  develop  into  a  passionate  woman  ; 
and  you,  who  are  as  cold  as  ice    .    .    .    .  " 

"  Cold  as  ice !  What  makes  you  think  so  ?"  in- 
terrupted Paul. 

"  Oh  !  your  imagination  and  your  senses  are  keen 
enough.  A  yonng  girl  will  easily  mistake  their  ar- 
dor for  warmth  of  heart.  But  with  you,  and  such 
as  you,  there  must  be  a  priestess  for  your  godship. 
You  must  be  fed  with  illusions,  and,  consequently, 
must  from  time  to  time  have  a  new  priestess." 

Paul  laughed,  and  said — 

"  Suppose  the  god  has  turned  sick  of  priestesses, 
and  desires  to  descend  from  his  pedestal,  and  to  sub- 
side into  private  life?" 

She  answered — 

"This  I  know,  that  temperament  will  always  have 
the  upper  hand  in  life,  and  you  will  always  require 
a  priestess  and  incense  !" 

"  Then  I  am  to  understand,  you  refuse  my  pro- 
posal." 

"  I  disapprove  of  it,  but  I  have  no  right  to  keep 
it  from  Regina ;  since  her  natural  guardians  refuse 
her  their  care,  she  must  decide  the  question  for 
herself." 

"You  will  not  prejudice  her  against  me;  and,  of 
course,  there  is  no  necessity  for  mentioning  that  I 
ever  loved  any  one  else." 


A   LITTLE   FOOL.  149 

"  It  ia  difficult  to  wall  out  the  past,  Paul ;  but  on 
that  subject  I  see  no  necessity  to  enter.  I  shall  not 
disstade  Regina  from  accepting  you,  but  I  shall  un- 
doubtedly point  out  to  her  that  the  wife  of  an  artist 
must  arm  herself  with  a  double  armor  of  patience." 

The  Mephistopheles  who  is  ever  at  the  ear  of 
men  and  women  of  the  world,  suggesting  evil  ex- 
planations of  the  acts  of  their  neighbors,  now  whis- 
pered to  Madame  Sainc6re,  that  the  only  reason  for 
this  step  of  Paul's  was,  that,  by  the  death  of  two 
childless  uncles,  Regina's  fortune  had  been  trebled. 
The  De  Rochetaillees  would  be  sure  to  accuse  her 
(Madame  Saincere)  of  making  the  match.  Whose 
the  fault  that  she  had  the  power  to  do  so  ?  Their 
conscience  must  tell  them  that  it  was  their  own. 

A  little  drama  had  been  enacting  before  her,  and 
she  had  seen  nothing  of  it. 

It  is  not  pleasant  to  discover  how  completely  we 
are  in  the  dark  as  to  what  is  going  on  in  the  minds 
and  hearts  of  those  with  whom  we  live:  to  look 
around  a  room  full  of  our  intimates,  and  to  have  to 
confess  to  ourselves  that  all  we  can  answer  for  know- 
ing of  them  is  their  exterior.  People  dance,  sing, 
laugh,  compliment ;  take  one  another  by  the  hand 
and  say,  "  What  a  pleasant  evening  we  have  passed  ! 
— how  merry  we  have  been  !" — and  all  the  time 
there  has  been  disappointment,  pique,  rivalry,  heart- 
sickness  in  many  a  bosom.  Ah  !  what  battles  are 
fought  out  in  the  obscurity  of  the  human  heart ! 
What  sepulchres  of  untold  agonies  are  our  souls  ! 

Madame  Saincere  waited  till  late  in  the  evening, 


150  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAT. 

so  as  to  make  sure  of  no  interruptions  before  she 
spoke  to  Regina.     She  said  abruptly — 

"I  have  received  another  proposal  of  marriage 
for  you,  Regina." 

"  Thank  you,  madame,  I  do  not  mean  to  marry," 
was  the  quick  rejoinder. 

"  Very  well,  my  dear.  No  one  will  force  your  in- 
clination ;  but  I  have  promised  to  make  known  to 
you  the  offer,  and  therefore  I  must  beg  you  to  listen 
to  me  for  five  minutes.  This  time  the  person  is  not 
a  stranger  to  you." 

Regina  gave  Madame  Saincere  a  quick  half-scared 
look. 

"  It  is  my  nephew,  Paul." 

Regina  made  no  answer.  She  seized  hold  of  the 
table  by  which  she  was  sitting,  for  the  room  seemed 
to  be  turning  round. 

"  Ah  !  mon  Dieu,  mon  Dieic — what  a  misfortune ! 
She  loves  him,"  muttered  Madame  Saincere — run- 
ning into  the  next  room  for  a  glass  of  water.  She 
held  it  to  Regina's  lips,  saying  with  a  harshness  she 
could  not  subdue — "  Don't  let  us  have  hysterics.  I 
thought  you  were  above  that  sort  of  thing.  Come, 
swallow  some  water."  ^ 

Madame  Saincere  was  irritated,  because  she  was 
both  sorry  and  uneasy  at  what  she  foresaw  was  to 
be  the  upshot  of  the  business. 

"  I  cannot  divine  any  cause  for  more  agitation  now 
than  in  the  case  of  M.  Desjardins ;  not  so  much 
reason,  for  you  have  known  Paul  more  than  half 
your  life." 


A  LITTLE  FOOL.  151 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  madame.  I  am  not  well  ; 
that  makes  me  nervous."  The  girl's  lips  were  blue, 
her  whole  body  was  in  a  tremble.  "  I — I — ."  She 
threw  her  arras  round  Madame  Saincere's  neck  and 
said  with  fluttering  breath, — "  Be  good  to  me,  I  have 
no  one  but  you." 

"  I  wish  to  be  good  to  you,  child.  Why  do  you 
doubt  it  ?"  and  Regina  felt  warm  motherly  tears  on 
her  brow.  What  a  look  of  intense  affection  shot  from 
the  orphan  girl's  eyes  ! 

The  world-experienced  woman,  the  woman  by  the 
world  subdued,  shrank  from  the  girl's  gaze,  as  we  do 
when  we  meet  the  confiding  look  of  any  helpless 
creature  we  know  to  be  predestined  to  pass  through 
some  terrible  suffering.  Madame  Saincere's  feeling 
was  very  much  the  reverse  of  the  spectator  who,  safe 
on  shore,  watches  a  probable  shipwreck.  It  was,  in- 
deed, an  access  of  interest  which  made  her  try  to  as- 
sume a  cool  matter-of-fact  manner.     She  said — 

"  Let  us  try  to  make  use  of  what  common  sense 
God  has  mercifully  bestowed  on  us  ;  for  of  all  affairs 
which  require  good  sense,  marriage  is  the  foremost. 
Almost  everything  else  has  been  modified  since  the 
Creation;  but  that  which  was  a  matter  of  necessity 
then,  seeing  there  were  but  two  people  in  the  world, 
has  become  a  fatal  law.  Do  remember,  my  dear 
child,  that,  let  a  man  and  woman  hate  one  another 
ever  so  much,  once  married  and  there  is  no  breaking 
the  chain.  When  people  marry,  they  take  a  formal 
engagement  to  make  two  wills  work  as  one, — it's  in 
the  bond  ;  but  it's  an  impossibility.     Pascal  lias  said, 


152  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

1  JChomme  n^est  ange  ni  bete."1  I  say  he  is  very  often 
solely  the  last ;  and  liis  wife,  knowing  him  to  be  so, 
must  pretend  to  think  him  the  first.  To  be  able  to 
do  so  is  the  best  foundation  for  her  peace ;  but  the 
gift  of  blindness  is  not  vouchsafed  to  every  one.  As 
for  Paul,  I  believe  him  less  fitted  to  make  a  woman 
happy  than  M.  Desjardins.  Paul  is  too  much  in  the 
world's  eye.  Celebrated  men  and  women,  having  to 
give  much  to  the  public,  have  less  for  home.  Paul, 
my  dear  Regina,  has  the  organization  belonging  to  his 
vocation.  He  is  easily  influenced  ;  easily  depressed : 
he  is  irritable — morbid — often  doubtful  of  his  own 
powers.  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  added  Madame  Sain- 
cere,  carried  away  by  her  subject,  'it  is  my  decided 
opinion  that  poets,  painters,  writers,  musicians,  have 
no  business  with  wives.  Let  their  works  be  their  off- 
spring. They  ought  to  leave  it  to  men  who  can't 
tell  Beethoven  from  Strauss,  or  a  fine  picture  from  a 
colored  lithograph,  to  be  fathers  of  families.  How- 
ever, I  may  as  well  hold  my  tongue ;  I  shall  not 
change  the  world." 

Madame  Saincere  stopped,  and  waited  for  an  answer. 
As  it  did  not  come,  she  pronounced  an  interrogative 
"Well?"  so  loudly  that  Regina  started.  The  pale 
cheek  flushed  as  she  said  softly,  oh !  so  softly,  in  a 
voice  she  had  learned  within  the  last  five  minutes,  a 
voice  with  divine  harmonies  in  it,  the  secret  of  which 
each  mortal  possesses  but  for  an  evanescent  period, 
she  said — 

"  Do  you  think — it  seems  so  wonderful— that  he 
should  care  for  me !     Can  it  be  ?" 


A  LITTLE   FOOL.  153 

And  this  was  the  result  of  madame  Saincere's  ap- 
peal to  common  sense.  She  gave  a  dry  "  Hem  !"  and 
lightly  kissed  Regina's  cheek,  saying — 

"  Paul  must  answer  that  question  himself;  he  only 
gave  me  a  commission  to  ask  you  to  marry  him." 

It  was  a  strange  duet  this:  each  singer  hearing 
only  his  own  part. 

The  last  words  on  Madame  Saincere's  lips  that  night 
were,  "  A  little  fool— a  poor  little  fool." 


v 


CHAPTER  XV. 

HAPPY  ! 

It  is  good  to  Lave  been,  once  in  a  life,  such  "  a 
little  fool"  as  Regina  was  that  night.  All  happiness 
has  to  be  paid  for;  but  it  is  much  to  have  had  the 
happiness — so  many  lives  pass  without  it — pass  in  a 
dull,  gray  indifference.  Paul's  mother,  for  instance, 
had  never  known  a  similar  feelino;  to  that  now  ex- 
perienced  by  her  intended  daughter-in-law.  Poor 
Madame  Latour !  not  one  wish  or  project  of  hers  but 
had  been  realized  in  the  way  most  painful  to  her. 

Nor  had  Madame  Saincere  any  conception  of  the 
hymn  of  joy  now  being  sung  in  Regina's  bosom. 
Madame  Saincere's  nature  had  never  been  fully  de- 
veloped. Some  fibres  had  never  vibrated.  Happi- 
ness is  as  necessary  to  the  complete  development 
of  our  faculties  as  grief;  and  Madame  Saincere  had 
never  known  the  supremest  earthly  good — that  of 
loving  and  being  loved.  It  was  this  shortcoming 
which  gave  a  something  of  hardness  to  her  character. 
When,  in  wishing  Regina  good-night,  she  had  add- 
ed, "  You  will  see  Paul  to-morrow,"  had  Regina 
spoken  as  she  felt,  and  said  "  Not  so  soon,"  Madame 
Saincere  would  have  wondered.  She  had  never  felt 
as  Regina  was  feeling,  that  craving  of  the  soul  foi 


iiuty!  155 

space   and  solitude— to  understand,  to  measure,  to 
embrace  its  sudden  wonderful  happiness. 

And  Paul !  Well,  it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  he 
should  be  in  a  similar  frame  of  mind.  No  man  of 
his  age  or  character  renounces  all  his  past  without 
regret — nay,  more — without  dread.  Until  he  had 
been  sure  of  Regina's  acceptance  of  his  offer,  sus- 
pense had  kept  in  check  all  other  sensations.  With 
certainty  came  reaction.  Had  there  been  a  possi- 
bility of  so  doing,  he  would  have  drawn  back.  The 
die  was  cast,  and  he  must  accept  his  fate. 

While  preparing  for  his  interview  with  his  be- 
trothed, he  called  up  a  vision  of  her  the  very  re- 
verse of  all  that  had  been  most  captivating  to  him. 
She  was  the  very  antipodes  of  Adeline  and  Aurora, 
those  lively,  rosy,  blonde  beauties — delightful,  way- 
ward, and  unreasonable.  Kegina  was  dark,  and 
pale,  and  calm,  as  only  strength  can  be.  It  was 
thus  he  expected  to  find  her. 

What  was  his  astonishment  to  meet  a  creature 
as  strange  to  him  as  if  seen  for  the  first  time ! — a 
creature  all  grace  and  softness;  a  radiance  not  of 
this  earth  shining  on  her  countenance. 

A  flood  of  life  had  inundated  Regina's  being. 
She  was  as  new  a  creation  as  Eve,  when  first  pre- 
sented to  Adam.  The  same  Divine  Spirit  which 
out  of  Chaos  had  produced  the  order  of  the  Spheres, 
had  breathed  on  her,  and  bestowed  light  and  har- 
mony. All  the  confusion  and  discord  of  her  soul 
had  vanished. 

Paul,  as  his  paintei-'s  eye  rested  on  her  face,  won- 


156  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

dered  how  he  could  have  been  so  longj  blind  to  its 
ineffable  suavity.  Even  at  that  instant  of  surprise 
and  admiration,  the  thought  crossed  him  of  what  a 
lovely  model  she  would  be  for  an  "Annunciation." 
Never  did  he  remember  to  have  beheld  such  a  type  ■ 
of  candor  and  modesty.  She  was  more  heavenly 
than  any  Madonna  of  Raphael.  His  were  the  rap- 
tures of  an  artist,  not  those  of  a  lover ;  in  fact  he 
was  not  a  lovei\  It  never  dawned  on  him  that  the 
greatest  charm  of  the  exterior  was  due  to  what  was 
unseen.  Paul  was,  in  truth,  very  little  of  an  idealist. 
He  went  no  deeper  than  the  surface,  and  in  art,  as 
in  other  things,  we  only  find  what  we  seek. 

The  girl  divined  his  admiration,  and  with  the 
ignorance  of  her  age  she  believed  admiration  and 
love  to  be  synonymous.  Older  and  wiser  than  she 
might  have  been  misled  by  the  ardor  of  his  looks 
and  words. 

Madame  Saincere  said  to  herself,  "  The  fire  of  the 
volcano  has  been  apparently  long  smouldering — it 
has  burst  into  flame  at  last.  Who  would  have 
thought  it  ?" 

Even  Paul  believed  that  what  he  felt  was  love, 
and  of  a  certain  kind  perhaps  it  was.  That  evening 
when  he  was  alone,  he  made  an  exquisite  sketch  of 
Regina  from  memory.  He  drew  her  standing,  lean- 
ing slightly  forward,  as  if  in  the  act  of  listening. 
The  grace  of  his  lines  had  never  been  more  perfect. 
"I  shall  astonish  them,"  he  said.  "The  them" 
alluded  to,  were  the  critics  and  connoisseurs,  and  the 
public  who  follow  after,  like  sheep  over  a  hedge. 


happy!  157 

When  next  day  he  showed  the  drawing  to  Regina, 
she  gazed  at  it  some  time  in  silence,  with  every  fea- 
ture refined  Ly  an  emotion  rendering  her  complexion 
quite  transparent.  Turning  her  fathomless  eyes  on 
him,  she  asked,  "  Is  this  really  like  me  ?" 

He  hesitated  for  an  instant  to  answer,  for  that 
voice  was  unknown  to  him,  and  then  he  spoke  his 
thought  hrusquely,  saying — 

"  No,  the  reality  is  far  superior ;  but  I  shall  suc- 
ceed in  painting  you,  Regina,  and  I  shall  owe  you 
not  only  my  happiness,  hut  my  fame.  Raphael  had 
no  more  faultless  model." 

It  was  the  fable  of  the  Bulbul  and  the  Rose  put  in 
action.  The  song  of  the  lover  made  the  maiden 
blush  into  even  more  loveliness.  Regina  was  still 
child  enough  to  perceive  no  fault  in  Paul's  continual 
ravings  about  her  beauty.  While  he  was  expati- 
ating on  the  purity  of  the  lines  of  her  figure — remarks 
the  warmth  of  which  was  scarcely  checked  by  re- 
spect— she,  instead  of  growing  vain,  was  grateful  to 
him  for  seeing  anything  worth  praising  in  her. 

At  the  end  of  the  month  Madame  Saincere  took 
Regina  back  to- Paris;  and  as  there  was  no  reason 
for  delaying  the  marriage,  she  commenced  all  the 
necessary  preliminaries.  She  had  already  received  a 
willing  consent  from  the  De  Roehetaillees,  and  was 
in  possession  of  the  certificates  of  the  death  of  Re- 
gina's  parents  and  of  that  of  her  baptism.  The  only 
thing  to  do,  besides  ordering  the  trousseau^  was  to 
agree  on  the  terms  of  the  marriage  settlement. 

Accordingly,  one  morning,  Madame  Saincere  spoke 


158  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

to  Paul  on  the  subject.     "Regina  having  so  mucl 
larger  a  fortune  than  you  have,  I  should  advise  you, 
Paul,  to  settle  some  considerable  part  of  her  money 
on  herself." 

"  I  meant  to  propose  the  commimaute  de  Mens,'''' 
he  said.  "  I  think,  in  our  rank  of  life,  independence 
for  a  woman  absurd.  However,  do  as  you  please. 
I  shall  sign  whatever  you  and  she  agree  on." 

"As  for  Regina,  she  knows  nothing  about  the 
necessity  of  contracts.  My  proposition  arises  from  a 
wish  to  prove  to  the  De  Rochetaillees  that  we  have 
not  made  the  marriage  from  interested  motives." 

"  They  have  no  right  to  make  any  remarks,  con- 
sidering the  way  they  have  thrown  the  girl  on  us." 

"  But  no  one  considers  '  the  right  they  have'  be- 
fore they  make  remarks,  and  I  should  not  wish  our 
conduct  to  afford  any  foundation  for  ill-natured  sus- 
picions." 

"  My  dear  aunt,  do  what  you  please  about  Regi- 
na's  money,  but  spare  me;  discussions  concerning 
settlements  are  enough  to  disgust  a  man  with  mar- 
riage." 

Madame  Saincere  was  not  pleased;  she  had  ex- 
pected greater  liberality  from  Paul.  M.  Desjardins 
had  offered  to  settle  the  whole  of  Regina's  fortune 
on  herself.  Poor  little  fool!  ejaculated  Madame 
Saincere  a  second  time. 

The  moment  Regina  came  to  understand  on  what 
subject  Madame  Saincere  was  consulting  her,  she 
said,  impetuously — 

"  II*  as  you  say,  my  being  one-and-twenty  gives 


HAPPY !  159 

me  the  disposal  of  my  money,  then  I  give  it  all  to 
Monsieur  Latour:  so  that  is  easily  arranged." 

"  But  that  cannot  be,  my  good  child.  Paul  would 
never  allow  you  to  do  such  a  foolish  thing.  Both  he 
and  I  are  bound  to  take  care  of  you.  Regina,  noth- 
ing in  this  life  is  certain,  except  changes ;  a  thousand 
eventualities  may  occur  which  would  render  your 
contract  of  marriage  an  anchor  of  safety  for  Paul,  as 
well  as  you." 

"  It  is  dreadful,"  exclaimed  Regina,  "  to  be  caring 
about  the  safety  of  my  money,  when  I  give  him  my- 
self. If  I  were  queen  of  the  whole  world,  I  would 
make  him  accept  all  I  possessed ;  I  would  have 
nothing  but  what  he  gave  me  as  a  gift.  I  wish  to 
owe  him  everything.  Oh,  madam  !  it  will  be  so  de- 
lightful to  be  obliged  to  ask  him  for  what  I  need." 

"You  very  silly  girl !  where  have  you  picked  up 
such  nonsense ?  A  settlement  you  must  have ; 
Paul's  honor  requires  it  as  much  as  your  interest. 
He  is  not  immortal." 

Regina  turned  deadly  white,  but  did  not  speak. 
Madame  Saincere  noticing  her  change  of  color,  said — 

"  It  is  the  duty  of  friends  to  look  after  those  who 
have  lost  their  senses — that  is  your  predicament  at 
this  moment.  You  will  thank  me  some  day  for  what, 
in  your  heart,  you  are  stigmatizing  as  worldliness." 

"I  can  never  have  any  interest  separate  from  M. 
Latour's  ;  I  pray  to  God  to  take  me  away  before 
such  a  misery  befalls  me."  And  her  tone  was  that 
of  one  already  seized  on  by  a  presentiment  of  mar- 
tyrdom. 


160  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

Madame  Saincere  was  at  fault — influenced  by  a 
respect  such  as  that  which  restrains  us  from  utter- 
ing anything  base  or  mean  before  a  child.  No,  she 
neither  could  nor  would  enlighten  Regina  as  to  j:>os- 
sibilities. 

"Why  must  I  have  a  settlement?"  went  on  Re- 
gina. "Poor  people  do  not  have  any,  do  they? 
My  mother  had  none." 

"  Your  mother's  marriage  was  a  peculiar  one. 
Suppose  we  leave  the  arrangements  to  Paul  ?" 

"  Yes.  Tell  him  I  don't  wish  to  be  independent 
of  him, — that  I  beg  he  will  accept  all  I  have.  I 
would  like  to  owe  him  everything — to  belong  to  him 
altogether — to  have  no  life  of  my  own :  that's  my 
hope." 

"  There's  nothing  real,  nothing  reasonable  in  what 
you  say.  Xo  imaginable  love  can  annihilate  your 
individuality  or  your  will.  Begin  with  your  notions, 
and  you  will  blunder  on  from  one  mistake  to  an- 
other. Your  reason  has  been  given  to  you  to  make 
use  of.  If  young  folks  would  only  be  guided  by 
their  elders !"  concluded  Madame  Saincere. 

And  if  they  were,  would  it  not  be  like  having 
summer  without  a  preceding  tender,  graceful  spring  ? 


BOOK    II. 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

AN"   ANNIVERSARY. 

Regina  was  at  the  zenith  of  her  contentment  when 
she  arrived  in  the  Rue  Bleue  after  her  wedding-tour 
to  the  Pyrenees.  She  loved,  and  nothing  doubted. 
But  she  was  as  ignorant  as  to  whom  she  adored  as 
was  Psyche,  that  eternal  prototype  of  young  woman- 
kind, when  she  left  her  paternal  home  to  follow  the 
god.  A  strange  thing  it  is  to  love,  and  yet  be  so 
thoroughly  in  the  dark  as  to  the  object  of  your  love. 
It  would  not  much  matter  if  the  obscurity  might 
last;  but  no!  there  is  some  mysterious  law  which 
condemns  the  loving  to  seek  for  knowledge  and  light. 

Regina  had  a  great  success  among  Paul's  bachelor 
friends.  She  was  so  modest,  so  unaffected,  so  evi- 
dently devoted  heart  and  soul  to  her  husband,  that 
she  spread  an  epidemic  of  matrimony  among  them. 
Tally,  Valton,  and  Burgmuller  became  unfailing  at- 
tendants of  Paul's  Friday  artist  soirees.  Ernst  of 
course  confided  to  the  world  that  he  was  einp'e  amou- 
■  of  the  beautiful  Madame  Paul.  Ah,  had  he  only 
known  her  a  little  sooner !  Like  a  withered  tree 
suddenly  sending  forth  new  branches,  so  did  he  have 

11 


162  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

a  new  growth  of  sentiment  and  enthusiasm.  Ma- 
dame Paid  was  installed  as  the  saint  in  his  betit 
Mariensgarten.  This  did  not,  however,  prevent  his 
assuring  Valton  that  a  grcmde  dame  at  Tronville  j 
had  made  him  advances.  But  that  was  a  mere  pre-, 
fane  love,  not  worthy  to  pass  the  gates  of  the  Mari- 
ensgarten. 

George  Tully  de  la  Roche  Belusson  elected  Ma- 
dame Paul  as  the  Laura  of  his  sonnets,  for  the  sake 
of  the  angelico  sorriso  with  which  she  listened  to  his 
odes,  even  when  he  recited  that  famous  one  already 
mentioned,  with  eyes  so  charged  with  electric  an- 
athematizing power,  that  they  must  have  paralyzed 
any  grocer  unlucky  enough  to  receive  his  glance. 

Paul  was  amused  by  Regina's  unconsciousness  of 
the  admiration  she  excited.  He  watched,  with  sly 
complacency,  how  completely  he  himself  absorbed 
all  her  attention.  Latour  was  as  nearly  happy  in 
those  days  as  it  is  given  to  mortals  to  be.  He  en- 
joyed his  contentment  as  men  do  good  health,  un- 
consciously and  without  gratitude.  It  was  during 
the  first  year  of  his  marriage  that  he  painted  that 

"  Annunciation"  for  the  Church  of ,  which  gave 

him  a  European  reputation.  Every  bit  of  canvas, 
signed  with  his  name,  brought  its  weight  in  wold. 
Princesses  bade  for  them.  Poets  sang  them.  Every 
one  of  his  works,  dated  at  that  period,  i-  distin- 
guished  by   an    extreme   delicacy   and   refinement, 

which   you   seek  for  in  vain  afterward.      Emerson 

says — 

"  You  cannot  hide  any  secret.      If  you  make  a 


AN  ANNIVERSARY.  1G3 

picture  or  a  statue,  it  sets  the  beholder  in  that  state 
of  mind  you  had  when  you  made  it." 

Madame  Saincere  was  so  satisfied  with  the  state 
of  things  in  the  little  household  in  the  Rue  Bleue, 
that  she  began  to  take  credit  to  herself  for  the  mar- 
riage, to  boast  of  it  as  her  doing.  Madame  Latour 
was  only  half  pleased.  She  Mas  still  longing  for  a 
grandchild. 

Aurora,  though  Biirgmiiller,  and  indeed  all  her 
circle,  pressed  her  to  seek  Pegina's  acquaintance, 
had  not  followed  the  advice;  nevertheless  she  con- 
tinually questioned  Yalton  and  Ernst  about  Madame 
Paul.  She  made  them  tell  her  how  she  wore  her 
haii-,  how  she  dressed,  wrhat  she  talked  about.  As  to 
this  last,  they  owned  they  had  little  to  repeat.  Ma- 
dame Paul  was  more  of  a  listener  than  a  talker. 

Paul  had  had  his  wife  photographed  by  all  the 
lust  Parisian  photographers,  and  Aurora  coaxed 
Biirgmuller  to  obtain  surreptitiously  for  her  one  of 
these  photographs. 

"  I  don't  wish  M.  Latour  to  know  that  I  have  it," 
she  said. 

And  when  Ernst  brought  it  to  her,  Aurora  said  in 
her  most  decided  way — 

"  I  can  tell  you  this,  Regina  has  a  soul  above  her 
husband's.  She  is  his  superior;  it  is  to  be  hoped  he 
will  never  find  it  out,  or  he  will  hate  her." 

"She  is  undoubtedly  angelic,  my  dear  Hubert, 
but  she  has  not  his  talent  for  painting,"  answered 
Ernst. 

"  An  original  discovery,  dear  Ernst !"  and  Aurora 


164  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

dropped  into  silence.  Her  eyes,  widely  opened,  were 
fixed  on  the  rosy  Teutonic  visage  opposite  to  her. 

Had  he  not  been  so  possessed  by  his  familiar  de- 
mon of  fatuity,  he  might  have  perceived  that  her 
spirit  was  wandering.  His  besetting  foible  did  for 
him  what  it  does  for  everybody — distorted  all  the 
objects  he  looked  upon.  Aurora's  absent  soul  re- 
turned, and  found  him  in  the  midst  of  a  most  bril- 
liant declaration  of  love.  She  broke  it  off  by  a  long 
ripple  of  laughter,  like  a  flute  cadenza. 

"  This  is  too  bad,"  she  said,  when  she  had  fairly 
arrested  his  fluency.  "How  old  are  you?  Do  you 
remember?  Forty-five,  and  I  am  a  year  under 
twenty,  and  yet  I  can't  be  Hubert  for  you  !  How 
lonely  you  men  make  women  !  We  find  small  com- 
panionship among  ourselves,  for  we  are  like  a  herd 
of  cows,  always  butting  at  one  another,  and  that's 
from  rivalry ;  and  if,  to  escape  that,  we  turn  to  such 
as  you,  more  than  middle-aged,  instead  of  honest 
friendship  you  offer  us  a  Fools'  Paradise.  Marry,  or 
be  lonely — that's  what  men  have  decreed  for  women. 
I  choose  the  last." 

"You  ask  for  impossibilities,  Aurora — Hubert," 
replied  Ernst,  almost  angrily.  "You  are  young, 
attractive,  and  men  are  not  statues." 

"Humbug!"  she  answered.  "You  have  been 
very  unkind,  Ernst.  I  wanted  a  friend  just  now,  I 
was  on  the  point  of  saying,  Lend  me  your  ear — the 
ear  of  a  safe  confidant." 

"  It  all  comes  of  a  bad  habit,  Hubert ;  forgive  me. 
You  know  I  would  go  through  fire  and  water  for  you. 


AN  ANNIVERSARY.  1G5 

Tell  me  your  secret.     1  will  never  again  breathe  a 
word  of  my  passion  to  you." 

"  Very  well ;  now  let  us  go  on  talking  of  the  paint- 
er and  his  wife.     And  so  he  makes  her  happy?" 

Ernst  raised  his  eyes  in  attestation  of  the  fact. 

"  She  worships  the  ground  lie  stands  on." 

"  That  decides  me  not  to  know  her,"  said  Aurora. 
"  A  sight  to  exaspei-ate  a  saint,  for  I  am  sure  he  ac- 
cepts her  idolatry  as  only  his  due."  She  thrust 
both  hands  through  her  hair,  making  herself  look 
like  a  lovely  Discord.  "  I  am  going  to  compose  a 
cantate,  after  the  fashion  of  the  '  Desert ;'  it  is  to  be 
called  '  Juggernaut.'  I  shall  have  a  soprano,  raving 
mad  with  love  for  the  god,  and  two  choruses — one 
of  devotees,  Hindoos,  and  the  other  of  English — and 
dances,  and  at  last  such  a  crash — my  soprano  pre- 
cipitating herself  with  a  hymn,  pathetic,  exulting, 
tragic,  to  be  crushed  by  her  idol.  It  will  be  grand, 
won't  it?  And  I  shall  dedicate  it  to  Madame  Paul 
Latour.  What  a  fool  I  am  to  put  myself  in  a  rage  ! 
It's  all  right,  and  I  am  very  glad  the  beautiful 
Regina  adores  her  Paul.  There,  are  you  satis- 
fied?" 

"  Oh,  quite  !"  and  Ernst  drew  a  long  breath  ;  then 
he  added,  in  a  low  voice,  "  Dear  Hubert,  I  pray  that 
you  may  one  day  love  a  husband  as  Madame  Paul 
does — don't  look  so  angry — believe  me  there  is  more 
happiness  for  a  woman  in  loving  than  being  loved." 

"How  can  you,  a  man,  judge  of  that?" 

"  Men  and  women  are  very  much  the  same,  and  it 
makes  me  happy  to  love." 


1GG  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  Go  on  and  prosper,  clear  Ernst,"  she  said,  with  a 
light  laugh. 

Biirgmtiller  left  Aurora,  wondering  what  it  was 
she  had  been  going  to  confide  to  him.  He  specu- 
lated freely,  and  often  came  very  near  what  he  was 
seeking,  but  he  never  actually  found  it.  In  fiction, 
motives  and  feelings  are  arbitrarily  laid  bare — in 
reality,  souls  keep  their  secrets. 

It  was  on  the  15th  of  October  that  Ernst  had  had 
this  Conversation  with  Aurora.  It  was  the  anniver- 
sary of  Regina's  wedding-day,  and  this  was  what 
was  passing  in  the  Rue  Bleue : — 

Regina  had  that  morning,  very  naturally,  expected 
some  affectionate  compliments  from  Paul.  She  went 
into  her  dressing-room  expecting  to  see  some  flow- 
ers, as  on  her  fete-day  (bouquets  are  obligatory  of- 
ferings on  such  occasions)  ;  there  were  none.  She 
was  sure  to  find  some  in  the  salon,  or  by  her  plate 
at  breakfast.  It  was  a  trifle  to  be  anxious  about, 
but  then  there  ai-e  no  trifles  where  the  heart  is  con- 
cerned.  The  young  wife's  eager  eyes  looked  in  vain. 
"  Surely  Paul  had  not  forgotten  what  had  occurred 
on  that  day  last  year;  perhaps  he  had  not  recollected 
the  date."  A  woman  is  the  subtlest  of  all  advo- 
cates in  finding  a  loop-hole  of  escape  for  a  culprit 
who  is  loved.  "  When  he  came  to  look  over  his  en- 
gagements he  would  remember."  Breakfast  passed 
without  any  tender  allusions,  and  it  was  not  till  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  before  dinner  that  Paul  and  Re- 
gina met  again.  He  came  into  the  salon  with  the 
lively  step  of  a  man  in  good-humor.     She  was  stand- 


AN   ANNIVERSARY.  1G7 

ing  rather  disconsolately  at  one  of  the  windows  over- 
looking the  garden  at  the  hack  of  the  house. 

" My  dear  Regina" — his  voice  was  joyous — "my 
dear  Regina" — she  turned  to  him,  certain  that  he 
was  going  to  say  the  wished-lbr  words — "I  have  a 
piece  of  good  news  for  you;  the  very  thing  I  have 
so  longed  for  has  come  to  jiass  to-day.  Guess  who 
has  been  here — who  has  been  for  the  last  hour  and 
a-half  in  the  atelier." 

Regina  gulped  down  the  ball  that  had  risen  in  her 

throat,  and  valiantly  named  M.  M ,  the  eminent 

art  critic. 

"  Better  than  that.     The  Princess  M ,  my  dear 

girl.  Yes — she  has  begged  me  to  paint  a  picture 
for  her." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Regina,  striving  to  ap- 
pear so,  but  having  an  involuntary  consciousness 
that  Paul's  joy  was  not  very  dignified.  It  is  hor- 
ribly painful  to  be  forced  to  see  the  least  flaw  in  an 
idol. 

"  And  now,"  continued  her  husband,  "  I  must  run 
away  and  dress,  for  I  dine  with  her  Highness." 

"  To-day,  what  a  pity  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Paul, 
have  you  forgotten  ?" 

"What?"  and  his  voice  was  disagreeably  sharp. 

"  To-day  is  the  15th  of  October — our  wedding-day." 

"Ah  !  I  am  sorry  it  has  so  happened — we  will  keep 
it  to-morrow  ;  one  day  is  as  good  as  another  when  all 
are  happy;  and  you  see,  my  dear  angel,  even  had  I 
recollected  the  important  date,  I  could  not  have  de- 
clined the  invitation.     When  Fortune  comes  to  our 


168  A   PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

door,  we  must  open  it  wide.  Don't  spoil  ray  luck 
by  a  sentimental  face :  it's  more  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness than  pleasure,  I  assure  you." 

Paul  descried  something  sparkling  like  dew-drops 
on  his  wife's  long  eyelashes,  and  immediately  re- 
solved on  flight.  He  gave  her  a  hasty  kiss  and  ran 
out  of  the  room. 

In  half  an  hour  he  returned,  and  found  Regina 
sitting  in  the  dark.  He  set  down  his  lighted  can- 
dle, and  rang  the  bell  angrily. 

"  Why  haven't  you  brought  in  the  lamp  ?"  he 
asked  of  the  servant.  "  Do  you  hear  ?  it  is  to  be 
lighted  every  day  at  dusk." 

Up  to  this  moment  not  a  single  unpleasant  word 
had  ever  occurred  between  husband  and  wife.  There 
is  always  a  pause  of  unwillingness  before  any  Rubi- 
con is  passed.  So  Paul  poured  out  his  irritation 
on  old  Joseph,  his  valet. 

As  soon  as  Regina  saw  Paul  angry,  she  forgot 
her  own  griefs  in  anxiety  to  allay  the  storm.  She 
sought  for  something  agreeable  to  say,  but  she  had 
to  struggle  with  a  bashfulness  all  delicate  natures 
feel  in  the  utterance  of  personal  compliments,  ere 
she  could  say — 

"  How  well  you  look  in  evening  dress,  Paid  !" 

"  This  demi-obscurity  which  you  have  chosen  is 
favorable  to  me" — then  he  rang  the  bell  violently 
again.  "  Get  me  a  cab,  and  see  that  the  horse  can 
move.  I  shall  be  late — thanks  to  all  this  nonsense" 
■ — he  added  in  a  mutter. 

"  You  will  oblige  me,  Regina,  if,  during  the  eve- 


AN    ANNIVERSARY.  169 

mug,  you  will  put  the  sketch-books  I  had  to  exhibit 
to-day  back  into  their  places.  Make  Joseph  light 
the  gas  for  you.  I  am  sorry  to  give  you  such  a 
task,  but  it  is  one  I  cannot  trust  to  a  servant." 

"  It  won't  be  any  trouble.  You  promised  I  should 
have  charge  of  the  atelier." 

"  Remember  to  arrange  the  books  in  rotation  ac- 
cording  to  the  years.  Good-bye ;  if  you  feel  dull, 
go  over  to  my  aunt,  and  don't  sit  up  for  me." 

He  went  without  any  further  leave-taking.  He 
was  not  of  the  forgiving  kind. 

Joseph,  as  he  shut  his  master  into  the  coach, 
said,  with  what  he  meant  for  an  agreeable  smile — 

"  If  I  were  to  take  a  bouquet  to  Madame  from 
Monsieur  ?" 

"Do  as  you  please,"  returned  Paul,  giving  the 
suggester  an  angry  look. 

"It  begins — it  begins  !"  sighed  old  Joseph. 

The  old  man  was  a  sort  of  heir-loom  in  the  family 
of  the  Latours  de  la  Mothe.  At  ten  years  old  he 
had  entered  the  service  of  Colonel  Latour,  the  hand- 
some aide-de-camp  of  the  Marechal  O .     Joseph 

had  seen  something  of  gay  life.  Colonel  Latour  had 
been  a  spendthrift  and  a  roue — had  broken  the 
hearts  of  two  wives,  and  squandered  their  fortunes. 
Joseph  had  certain  reminiscences  which  helped  him 
to  understand  Paul's  angry  mood,  and  his  young 
mistress's  sadness.  Joseph  had  recollected,  though 
his  master  had  not,  what  day  it  was. 

When  Regina  saw  beautiful  flowers  by  the  side 
of  her  solitary  plate,  her  eyes  brightened. 


170  A   PSYCHE    OF   TO-DAY. 

"De  la  part  de  Monsieur,"  said  Joseph;  telling 
his  monstrous  falsehood  without  any  remorse,  and 
then  he  took  on  himself  to  coax  Madame  to  eat. 
By  the  time  she  had  finished  her  dinner,  Joseph  had 
brought  about  a  reaction  in  Regina's  feelings,  and 
it  was  quite  cheerfully  that  she  begged  him  to  light 
one  of  the  gas-burners  in  the  atelier.  She  had 
something  to  do  there  for  M.  Latour.  After  she 
had  placed  the  sketch-books  in  their  proper  places 
on  the  shelf,  she  be^an  to  o-ather  together  the  draw- 
ings  strewn  about  on  chairs  and  tables. 

This  part  of  her  task  did  not  proceed  very  rapidly, 
for  she  had  enough  of  the  artist  in  her  to  appreciate 
and  be  interested  in  what  she  saw.  She  lingered 
wistfully  over  the  many  female  heads,  and  there  were 
dozens  of  them,  drawn  in  pencil,  washed  in  sepia,  or 
colored  caVefully.  They  were  all  beautiful,  and  she 
wondered  how  it  was  Paul  had  not  married  sooner — 
it  was  surely  impossible  he  could  have  been  indif- 
ferent to  all  these  lovely  creatures.  It  was  strange 
how  he  had  waited  so  long,  and  then  chosen  her— 
a  person  of  whom  he  had  scarcely  ever  taken  any 
notice.  He  really  had  scarcely  known  anything  of 
her  when  they  married ;  she  doubted  if  he  under- 
sl  <  »od  her  now.  She  believed  she  was  of  more  worth 
tli ;n i  he  thought.  She  wished — all  young,  generous 
natures  do  have  such  wishes — she  wished  for  some 
opportunity  for  a  great  self-sacrifice,  that  something 
might  happen  :  that  he  might  be  bitten  by  a  mad 
dog,  and  she  save  him  by  sucking  the  wound;  or 
that  he  might  have  the  plague,  and  she  nurse  him 


AX    AXNIVKii.NAKY.  171 

back  to  health — herself  dying.     Ah!  how  willingly 

she  would  die  only  to  hear  him  say  as  she  heard  it 
said  in  her  heart,  "Regina,  I  love  you  !" 

Gradually  it  dawned  on  her  that,  among  the  fe- 
male heads  of  the  sketches,  there  was  one  oftener 
reproduced  than  the  others,  and  that  it  was  one 
familiar  to  her.  At  first,  she  fancied  it  was  like  that 
Miss  Aurora,  of  whom  she  had  been  jealous ;  but  it 
could  not  be,  for  these  drawings  were  dated  years 
back.  All  at  once,  and  without  any  apparent  asso- 
ciation of  ideas,  she  thought  of  that  Madame  Aubert 
or — no — Aubry,  whom  she  had  met  at  Juvigny,  and 
then  she  recollected  having  said  her  face  was  familiar ; 
and  so  it  was ;  for  there  had  been  a  picture  of  her  in 
the  atelier  when  she  was  a  child.  It  was  gone,  but 
she  remembered  very  well  where  it  had  hung,  near 
that  corner  where  there  was  now  a  coat-of-arrnor. 
Regina  went  and  looked  behind  the  armor,  but  there 
was  no  picture  there. 

She  took  out  the  drawings  she  had  already  con- 
signed to  the  portfolios — always  that  same  face  on 
the  margins  of  all  the  sketches  clone  at  Rome.  It 
reappeared  among  the  ruins,  among  columns  and 
arches;  there  it  was  again  in  that  careful  study  of 
the  Campagna — that  sick  woman  had  Madame  Au- 
bry's  features.  She  guessed  now  why  Madame  La- 
tour  had  shown  an  aversion  for  that  lady.  She 
guessed,  also — love  is  a  clever  master — why  Madame 
Aubry  had  been  so  sarcastic  about  Paul.  Ah !  but 
she  was  old,  now!  those  dates  at  Rome  were  more 
than  fifteen  years  back.     Madame  Aubry  was  as  old 


172  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

as  Paul ;  and  her  children  must  be  grown-up.  With 
that  consoling  thought  Regina  rjut  away  those  waifs 
of  her  husband's  early  years  back  into  their  respec- 
tive portfolios. 

As  she  pushed  them  into  their  niche,  she  perceived 
a  drawer  open  of  a  Louis  XV.  commode, — one  of 
the  prettiest  articles  of  furniture  in  the  atelier.  As 
she  waspassing  it  she  mechannically  tried  to  push  in 
the  drawer,  which  resisted,  as  drawers  are  apt  to  do. 
It  went  in  at  one  side  and  obstinately  came  out  at 
the  other.  Regina  persisted,  and  thought  to  over- 
come by  force.  In  the  struggle  she  pulled  the 
drawer  out,  and  all  the  contents  fell  on  the  floor. 
Very  heterogeneous  articles  did  Regina  pick  up — 
cigar-cases,  neckties,  worked  slippers,  old  purses, 
old  hotel  bills,  novels  in  yellow  paper  covers,  vocab- 
ularies in  every  living  language,  a  mask,  odd  gloves, 
a  something  rolled  up  in  a  white  silk  handkerchief. 
As  she  lifted  this  it  opened,  and  out  fell  a  thick  long 
roll  of  fair  hair,  dry  and  faded,  but  still  of  a  pale 
gold  color.  It  had  evidently  been  severed  close  to 
the  neck.  She  had  it  still  in  her  hand,  when  Joseph 
opened  the  atelier  door;  he  had  come  to  see  if 
Madame  did  not  require  his  services. 

"  What  wonderful  hair !"  said  Regina,  holding  it 
out  to  him. 

"  Hair  !     Is  Madame  sure  it  is  not  the  tail  of  the 
Arab  horse  Monsieur  was  so  fond  of?" 

"  What !  such  fine  gold  silk  hair  the  tail  of  a  horse, 
Joseph !" 

"  Ah  !  now  I  recollect,"  said  Joseph.     "  Monsieur 


AN  ANNIVERSARY.  173 

has  lots  of  hair  to  paint  from.     Has  .Madame    not 
found  some  others  ?" 

"  No,  only  this.     It  wants  air,  it  smells  mouldy/' 
"  Monsieur  has  forgotten  he  had  it.     Monsieur  was 
always  very  particular  about  hair.     I  remember  his 
paying  an  ugly  German  broom-seller  for  some  of  her 
hair,  because  it  was  of  some  particular  shade." 

Regina  said  no  more,  but  rolled  up  the  hair  in  the 
handkerchief  and  replaced  it  in  the  drawer.  She 
went  at  once  to  bed.  Some  woman's  instinct,  which 
so  often  stands  a  young  wife  in  lieu  of  experience  and 
judgment,  led  her  to  avoid  any  conversation  with 
her  husband  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

RIPPLES    ON   THE    LAKE    OF    MATEIMONT. 

Paul  had  left  his  hcmse  both  irritated  and  sorry. 
The  burden  of  his  thoughts,  as  he  drove  to  the 
Champs  Elysees,  was,  that  women  managed,  by  their 
sentimentality,  to  make  reasonable  men  thoroughly 
uncomfortable,  and  that  assuredly  the  blessings  of 
marriage  were  counterbalanced  by  the  many  checks 
it  imposed  on  a  man's  liberty. 

It  was  a  great  change,  from  his  own  dark  drawing- 
room  and  Regina's  disappointed  face,  to  the  blaze  of 
lio-ht  and  the  brilliant  circle  assembled  in  the 
Princess  M.'s  salons.  It  was  like  the  change  from 
December  to  June.  Nothing  could  be  more  gracious 
than  the  reception  accorded  to  the  artist  by  the  no- 
ble hostess ;  and  the  guests,  to  many  of  whom  he 
was  already  personally  known,  followed  H.  H.'s  ex- 
ample. 

Paul  found  himself  at  once  in  a  congenial  sphere 
of  grace  and  beauty — eye  and  ear  equally  caressed — 
the  one  by  the  sound  of  silver  voices,  the  other  by 
bright  smiles.  As  he  glanced  around  the  circle,  he 
started  violently.  Not  for  half  an  instant  did  he 
doubt  that  it  was  Madame  Aubry  who  was  within  a 
few  feet  of  him.  Her  lips  were  parted  by  the  strange 
smile  he  knew  so  well — a  smile  that  conveyed  no 
impression  of  pleasure.     As  his  look  of  recognition 


RIPPLES   ON   THE  LAKE   OF   MATRIMONY.        175 

met  hers,  she  turned  away  her  head — did  so  point- 
edly and  decidedly.  He  had  forgotten  none  of  Ad- 
eline's ways:  lie  understood  her  as  perfectly  now  as 
he  had  done  years  ago — years  many  enough  to  tell 
them  both  they  had  left  their  youth  behind  them. 
At  first  he  was  aware  of  a  great  change  in  Madame 
Aubry's  appearance.  She  looked  either  hectic  or 
rouged.  Her  eyes  were  sunken.  She  appeared,  in 
fact,  what  she  was — a  well-preserved  woman.  Those 
were  his  first  impressions ;  but  ere  the  evening  ended, 
he  had  lost  sight  of  any  alteration ;  he  saw  her  as 
she  had  been  when  they  parted.  It  is  always  so  ;  it 
is  not  the  features  or  the  bloom  we  care  for  in  those 
dear  to  us — it  is  the  well-known  expression,  and  this 
always  remains. 

The  whole  time  he  was  breathing  the  same  at- 
mosphere with  her,  Paul  had  a  double  consciousness. 
Carrying  on  at  one  moment  a  lively  discussion  on 
art  with  some  connoisseurs,  at  another  listening  re- 
spectfully to  H.  H.,  he  was  the  while  speculating  in- 
wardly on  what  might  be  the  result  of  this  meeting 
with  Adeline — chafing  under  her  sarcastic  smile  and 
resolute  repudiation  of  all  knowledge  of  him. 

"It  is  a  fatality,"  thought  he.  Yes,  a  fatality, 
because  the  citadel  was  ill  defended. 

Paul  slept  little  that  night.  The  leading  faculty, 
his  imagination,  was  excited. 

Regina  asked  him  the  following  morning,  at  break- 
fast, if  he  were  well  ? 

"  Quite,"  he  answered  in  a  tone  that  was  civil,  by 
a  great  effort. 


176  A   rSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

She  ought  to  have  left  him  undisturbed  to  the 
newspaper  lie  was  reading.  But  she  had  little  tact, 
and  was,  besides,  oppressed  by  a  fear  that  his  un- 
usual taciturnity  arose  from  displeasure.  Though 
if  either  of  them  had  cause  to  be  displeased,  it  was 
surely  not  Paul.  But  she,  as  all  loving  women  do, 
felt  ready  to  avow  herself  in  fault,  and  to  seek  re- 
conciliation. 

"  "Was  it  a  pleasant  party  ?" 

"  Neither  pleasant  nor  unpleasant." 

"  What  did  you  do  ?" 

At  this  last  query  he  looked  at  her  and  said — 

"  I  am  a  bad  hand  at  gossipping.  There  were 
women  pretty  and  not  pretty ;  well  and  ill  dressed ; 
coquettish  and  silly,  as  usual.  Several  men  in  even- 
ing dress ;  one  or  two  young,  but  most  of  them  bald- 
headed." 

Regina  was  silenced. 

When  Paul  went  to  his  atelier,  she  passed  through 
a  bitter  quarter  of  an  hour.  She  supposed  that  she 
must  exjiect  her  husband  to  be  different  in  the 
second  year  of  their  marriage  to  what  he  had  been 
in  the  first.  She  had  heard  Monsieur  This  and 
Monsieur  That  speak  roughly  to  their  wives ;  and 
yet  everybody  knew  they  wTere  attached  to  one 
another.  She  recalled  to  mind  a  conversation  she 
had  once  heard  at  Madame  Saincere's.  A  Monsieur 
Georges  had  said,  in  presence  of  Madame  Georges, 
that  if  his  wife  died,  he  should  never  marry  again — 
not  that  he  had  been  unhappy,  but  to  have  his  lib- 
erty; and  Madame  Georges  had  laughed  and  said, 


RIPPLES  ON  THE   LAKE   OF  MATRIMONY.        177 

"If  she  were  a  widow,  she  should  marry  again  di- 
rectly." Upon  which  M.  Georges  had  answered 
angrily,  that,  "If  she  did,  he  would  not  acknowledge 
her  when  they  met  in  Paradise."  Women  often 
find  comfort  in  such  recollections  as  these.  Besides, 
Madame  Saincere  had  warned  her  not  to  expect 
that  Paul  would  remain  loverdike  in  manner — had 
warned  her  that  it  was  an  impossibility,  and  that 
affection  and  friendship  were  excellent  substitutes  ;  a 
theory  quite  hateful  to  Regiua ;  but  what  if  it  were 
true  ? 

After  this  self-colloquy  her  heart  was  so  sore  that 
she  felt  impelled  to  seek  the  balm  of  Paul's  presence, 
and  went  to  the  atelier.  He  was  not  painting — he 
was  brooding  and  smoking,  and  in  a  mood  common 
to  mortals:  he  needed  to  be  reconciled  with  himself. 
Regina,  most  assuredly,  was  not  the  person  to  do 
this.  She  was  too  young  and  unknowing;  never 
even  having  had  the  experience  of  many  girls,  who 
have  had  opportunities  of  observing — "  How  mam- 
ma managed  to  put  papa  in  good-humor  again." 
Nor  had  she  high  animal  spirits  to  help  her.  She 
was  too  heavily  weighted  by  her  love,  and  she  was 
further  checked  by  a  sensation  that  had  troubled 
her  ever  since  her  marriage.  It  was  difficult  to  de- 
fine. The  nearest  explanation  would  have  been  that 
of  two  people  living  together  who  did  not  under- 
stand a  word  of  each  other's  language.  She  had 
striven  over  and  over  again  against  this  disagree- 
able  impression ;  and  li ad  more  than  once  surprised 
her  husband  by  certain  starts  of  confidence,  whici 

12 


178  A   PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

however,  never  led  to  any  reciprocity  from  him. 
Paul  never  talked  to  Regina  of  his  childhood,  boy- 
hood, or  of  his  young  man's  life :  never  gossipped  to 
her  about  former  years,  in  the  way  a  married  lover 
does.  Often  and  often  there  was  lack  of  subjects  of 
conversation  between  them.  A  very  sad  symptom. 
No  surer  sign  of  love  than  that  of  having  so  much 
to  say  to  one  another. 

When  Regina  opened  the  atelier-door  Paul  laid 
aside  his  pipe,  rose,  and  placed  a  chair  for  her. 
What  superhuman  efforts  she  made  to  find  some- 
thing agreeable  to  talk  about !  After  diverging 
from  topic  to  topic,  with  a  want  of  connection  dis- 
tressing and  fatiguing  to  them  both,  in  her  dire  strait 
for  something  to  say,  for  he  gave  her  no  assistance, 
she  began  to  relate  to  him  the  story  then  publishing 
in  some  minor  paper.  Poor  little  woman  !  She  be- 
lieved she  had  at  last  succeeded  in  interesting  him ; 
he  had  ceased  to  fidget.  The  tale  finished,  she  saw 
that  her  supposed  listener  was  fast  asleep.  At  the 
cessation  of  the  sound  of  her  voice,  he  awoke. 

"  You  mesmerized  me,  my  dear  girl,"  he  said. 

"  By  my  stupidity,"  she  answered. 

He  could  see  how  mortified  she  was.  "  You  must 
not  learn  to  be  susceptible,  Regina.  When  two  per- 
sons are  to  pass  their  lives  together,  they  must  learn 
how  best  to  be  supportable  to  each  other.  Let  us 
go  and  take  a  walk.  I  am  not  fit  to  do  anything 
to-day." 

To  be  just,  it  is  impossible  to  insist  too  much  on 
the  point  that  Paul  was  meant  by  Nature  to  be  a 


RIPPLES  ON  THE   LAKE   OF   MATRIMONY.        179 

good  painter,  and  not  a  domestic  man.  Like  all 
persons  of  strong  imagination,  he  was  the  easy  prey 
of  ennui.  The  more  poetically  gifted  the  individual, 
the  more  sure  is  he  to  create  trouble  for  himself; 
and  when,  added  to  the  poetic  gifts,  there  is  a  desire 
for  lame,  conjugal  tcte-d-tvtes  are  utterly  spoiled. 
Art  is  a  jealous  mistress,  and  makes  her  votaries 
intolerably  egotistical. 

Regina  and  her  husband  went  to  the  Champ  Ely- 
sees.  Paul  had  obeyed  a  good  impulse  in  proposing 
to  go  out,  but  he  had  not  enough  self-mastery  to 
force  himself  to  be  a  pleasant  companion. 

A  multitude  on  foot,  on  horseback,  in  carriages, 
were  abroad.  Great  personages  and  little  folks  were 
mustering  in  force  for  the  coming  winter.  The  fresh 
air,  and  the  gay  scene,  restored  Regina's  spirits. 
She  was  as  lovely  a  woman  as  any  to  be  seen  in  that 
throng,  and  in  Paris  men  never  seem  to  have  any 
business  which  interferes  with  their  leisure  to  ad- 
mire beauty.  Paul  fumed  and  fretted  as  he  per- 
ceived the  many  glances  of  admiration  levelled  at 
his  wife. 

"  How  did  you  come  to  forget  your  veil  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  never  wear  one.     It's  not  the  fashion." 

"  You  say  right.  It's  never  the  fashion  for  women 
to  be  modest." 

He  stopped,  and  beckoned  to  an  empty  cab. 

As  he  was  handing  in  Regina,  a  lady  on  horse- 
back, attended  by  a  large  party  of  gentlemen,  passed. 
The  lady  pulled  up  her  horse,  stared  at  Regina, 


180  A   TSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

slightly  nodding  to  Paul,  who  but  slightly  lifted 
his  hat. 

"  Have  you  no  recollection  of  who  that  person 
was  who  looked  so  earnestly  at  you  ?"  asked  Paul, 
when  they  were  in  the  cab. 

"  No,  none." 

"  That  was  Hortense,  my  aunt's  cook  when  you 
■first  came  to  the  Rue  Blanche." 

"  Hortense  ?  Oh  !  I  would  give  anything  to  be 
able  to  thank  her  for  all  her  kindness  to  me.  She 
was  so  good  to  me  all  the  time  I  was  at  Passy,  never 
forgetting  to  send  me  beautiful  etrennes,  that  I  might 
seem  as  well  cared  for  as  the  other  girls." 

"  You  and  Hortense  must  never  have  any  inter- 
course. Let  me  warn  you  never  to  take  any  notice 
of  her ;  indeed,  I  believe  she  will  avoid  you.  Ah  ! 
there  goes  your  grandmother,  the  Comtesse  de  Roche- 
taillee,  in  her  carriage  covered  with  armorial  bear- 
ings. She  little  imao;mes  her  daughter's  dauo-hter 
is  passing  in  this  shabby  cab.  Had  you  married 
the  greatest  idiot  among  modern  vicomtes,  she  would 
have  taken  you  to  her  bosom.  Your  marriage  with 
me  is  scarcely  more  respectable,  in  her  eyes,  than 
your  mother's  with  your  father.  The  faults  of  the 
parent  are  renewed  in  the  daughter." 

"  If  you  had  read  her  letter  to  Madame  Saincere, 
you  would  know  how  differently  she  feels.  She  was 
so  glad  you  should  marry  me  !"  and  Regina  slipped 
her  hand  into  that  of  Paul's. 

He  held  it  for  a  minute,  then  put  it  aside,  saying — 

"  We   must   behave    ourselves  with  propriety  in 


RIPPLES   ON  THE   LAKE   OF  MATRIMONY.        181 

public,  even  though  we  belong  to  the  world  of  art- 
ists; neither  do  I  wish  to  be  taken  for  any  one  else 
than  your  husband." 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Paul  was  always  as 
little  agreeable  as  on  this  morrow  of  the  Princess's 
dinner.  There  is  a  succession  of  fine  days  during 
which  are  gathering  the  elements  for  a  storm;  or 
there  is  rainy,  tempestuous  weather,  to  be  followed 
by  sunshine.  The  same  alternations  occur  in  our 
lives.  The  teller  of  a  tale  cannot  note  down  the 
lesser  variations,  he  can  only  relate  the  principal 
vicissitudes.  For  a  time  all  went  smoothly  again 
with  Regina. 

"  You  spoil  that  husband  of  yours,"  said  Madame 
Saincere  one  day  to  her.  The  remark  was  made  on 
one  occasion,  when  Paul  had  told  his  wife  he  should 
be  ready  to  walk  with  her  at  two  o'clock.  Regina 
knowing  how  it  vexed  him  to  have  to  wait,  had  been 
sitting  since  half-past  one  in  her  bonnet  and  shawl. 
"You  are  too  obedient,  too  slavish,  child,"  went  on 
Madame  Saincere :  "  there  is  too  little  of  ecpiality 
between  you  and  Paul ;  you  are  afraid  to  keep  him 
waiting  five  minutes,  and  he  does  not  care  though 
you  should  do  so  for  an  hour.  It's  all  right  to  be 
obliging,  but  it  does  not  answer  to  make  a  man  feel 
himself  so  completely  master." 

Madame  Saincere  was  a  clever  woman,  but  not 
well  versed  in  one  particular  subject.  She  did  not 
comprehend  that  Pegina's  conduct  was  that  of  a 
woman  who  is  not  sure  of  her  power. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HINC   ILL^E    LACHKYMJE. 

All  Paris — :that  is,  all  in  Paris  who  were  worthy 
of  being  counted  somebody — one  Sunday  were  to 
be  congregated  in  the  Church  of  La  Madeleine.  A 
member  of  a  great  Russian  family  had  become  a 
convert  to  Catholicism,  and  was  to  preach  in  behalf 
of  a  mission  to  Honolulu. 

Madame  Paul  Latour  had  been  requested  to  be 
one  of  the  Dames  QuStenses,  an  office  answering  to 
a  plate-holder  at  a  church-door  in  English  churches. 
Paul,  considering  the  rank  and  fashion  of  the  lady 
from  whom  the  request  came,  had  decided  that  Re- 
gina  must  accept  the  invitation.  The  greater  num- 
ber of  the  stronger  sex  who  can  be  attracted  on 
such  occasions,  the  greater  chance  of  a  large  collec- 
tion :  so  rank,  or  fame,  or  beauty  is  a  necessary 
qualification  for  a  Queteuse. 

The  first  duty  each  chosen  lady  performs,  is  to 
despatch  a  printed  circular  to  all  her  friends,  request- 
ing their  attendance  at  a  particular  church  on  a  par- 
ticular day,  when  so-and-so  is  to  preach  in  favor  of 
such-and-such  a  cause.  At  the  bottom  of  the  circu- 
lar is  a  list  of  the  Qucteases  who  will  parade  the 
church,  presenting  a  beautiful  bag  to  you,  dropping 
you  a  courtesy  even  for  a  sous,  adding  a  smile  when 


HINC    ILL/E    LACHKYM.K.  183 

your  donation  is  a  large  one.  A  spirit  of  emulation 
swells  the  breasts  of  the  Queteuses.  It  is  the  ambi- 
tion of  one  and  all  of  them  to  have  collected  the 
largest  sum  ;  and  as  women  have  great  faith  in  the 
influence  of  dress,  their  toilet  for  the  ceremony  is 
ever  a  matter  of  importance. 

"  You  had  better  consult  Madame  de  St.  Gignoux," 
said  Paul,  naming  the  comtesse  who  had  selected 
Regina  as  one  of  the  band  of  which  she  was  the 
leader. 

"Do  you  think  I  dare?"  asked  Regina,  looking 
as  if  her  courage  *  could  never  carry  her  to  that 
altitude. 

"  You  imagine,  perhaps,  that  because  I  have  paint- 
ed Madame  de  St.  Gignoux's  portrait,  you  are  to 
hold  yourself  as  her  inferior,"  said  Paul,  stiffly. 

"  It  wasn't  that — how  could  it  be  ?  Don't  I  think 
you  superior  to  the  whole  world  ?"  She  was  stand- 
ing by  him,  and  with  a  shy  quick  movement  she  hid 
her  face  on  his  breast ;  whispering,  "  Every  day  I 
think  how  wonderful  it  is  you  should  have  taken  me 
for  your  wife." 

Madame  Saincere  would  have  shaken  her  head 
more  than  ever,  had  she  heard  this  confession.  She 
would  have  said — 

"  Little  goose,  if  you  want  this  man,  or  any  man, 
to  care  for  you,  don't  let  him  see  his  power.  Pretend 
to  a  strength,  if  you  have  it  not;  be  sulky,  passion- 
ate, unreasonable,  coquettish  ;  above  all,  self-asserting 
— never  gentle  and  loving. 

Paul    was,   however,   for    the    moment   touched ; 


184  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

he  stroked  her  hair,  and  stooping,  kissed  her  fore- 
head. 

"  Yon  forgive  me,  Paul  ?" 

"  What  for,  petite  sotte  ?  It  is  I  who  ought  to  ask 
pardon  for  interfering  with  what  is  quite  out  of  my 
province." 

"  Nothing  that  concerns  me  can  be  out  of  your 
province,"  returned  Regina,  with  unusual  courage. 
"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  taking  an  interest  in 
my  dress." 

She  had  much  better  have  made  him  laugh  by 
declaring  she  would  wear  a  bright  orange  gown  and 
a  sky-blue  bonnet. 

"I  don't  really  attach  any  importance  to  your 
consulting  Madame  St.  Gignoux ;  but  if  you  do,  be 
prepared  for  her  making  you  spend  plenty  of  money. 
Don't  show  any  backwardness  for  the  sake  of  some 
few  hundred  francs;"  and,  tired  of  the  discussion,  he 
left  the  room. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  de  St.  Gignoux  was  a  per- 
sonage— one  of  the  women  whose  opinion  counted 
for  something  in  Paris.  She  was  neither  good  nor 
clever,  nor  beautiful  —  one  of  the  beetle-browed 
women  so  often  seen  in  France.  She  was  separated 
from  her  husband,  having  even  renounced  his  name, 
declaring  it  to  be  beyond  the  power  of  her  lips  to 
pronounce.  It  was  certainly  an  outlandish  name. 
She  had  no  friends — cared  for  no  one — loved  nothing 
on  earth  but  her  own  self.  Neither  joy  nor  sorrow 
would  have  tempted  her  to  go  out-of-doors  while  the 


IIIXC    ILL/E   LACHRYMiE.  185 

sun  was  shining.     She  declared  the  sun  to  be  one  of 
the  main  causes  of  wrinkles. 

"Can  any  one,"  she  inquired,  "  be  exposed  to  sun- 
light without  screwing  up  one  eye  and  ruffling  up 
their  brows  ?    It  was  ridiculous  to  suppose  that  when 
you  have  made  similar  grimaces  a  hundred  and  fifty 
times,  no  trace  of  them  should  remain."     Carrying 
out  her  theory,  in  summer  she  lay  in  bed  all  day, 
rising  at  six  or  seven  in  the  evening,  and  receiving 
visits  at  eleven  at  night.     She  believed  she  owed 
her  still   smooth  complexion  to   this   management. 
She  was  one  of  those  of  whom  Parisians  say,  "  They 
have  no  age."     Some  of  her  intimate  enemies  as- 
serted that  she  had  passed  forty,  but  it  wras  a  cal- 
umny; for  she  carried  a  certificate  of  her  baptism 
always  about  her,  and  that  went  to  prove  she  wanted 
yet  two  years  of  that  redoubted  bourne  of  youth. 

Madame  de  St.  Gignoux  received  Regina  rather 
graciously.  First  of  all,  she  approved  of  the  portrait 
Paul  had  made  of  her.  Secondly,  she  liked  hand- 
some, clever  men,  and  Paul  was  undoubtedly  both ; 
and  then  among  the  shortcomings  of  this  fashionable 
lady  was  not  to  be  counted  that  of  jealousy  of  other 
women's  looks.  On  the  contrary,  she  tried  as  much 
as  possible  to  keep  away  all  the  plain  or  ungraceful 
of  her  female  acquaintance  from  her  salons. 

It  being  in  the  month  of  November  when  Regina 
paid  her  visit,  Madame  de  St.  Gignoux  had  no  objec- 
tion to  drive  in  the  afternoon  to  the  house  of  the 
Great  Arbiter  of  Fashion.  As  they  went  along  she 
said — 


186  A   PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

"  You  have  a  pretty  skin,"  Madame  Latour.  "  I 
have  not  detected  a  flaw  in  it  yet.  Follow  my  ex- 
ample," and  then  the  great  lady  entered  on  an  ex- 
planation of  her  theory  and  practice. 

"  I  am  afraid  Monsieur  Latour  would  not  approve 
of  my  remaining  in  bed  all  day,"  replied  Regina, 
almost  laughing. 

"  If  he  is  painting,  what  can  it  matter  to  him  what 
you  are  doing  ?  I  suppose  you  have  servants,  haven't 
you  ?" 

Madame  St.  Gignoux  did  not  take  the  trouble  to 
listen  to  the  answer ;  her  attention  had  been  engaged 
by  the  sight  of  a  beautiful  spaniel,  which  a  lady  held 
by  a  st ling. 

"  That's  just  the  dog  I  want,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
wonder  where  Madame  de  Juliviere  G'ot  it  ?  Do  von 
know  her?  Poor  woman !  she  is  not  sure  that  she 
hasn't  two  husbands.  The  first  is  said  to  be  alive 
somewhere.  For  my  part,  I  am  quite  in  favor  of 
divorce.  All  women  ought  to  be.  Considering  the 
way  marriages  are  made  among  us,  it  would  be  but 
bare  justice  to  provide  a  safe  remedy.  You  are  only 
just  married,  I  believe,  and  perhaps  you  like  your 
husband  pretty  well  at  this  moment — he  is  a  novel- 
ty ;  but  suppose  you  should  come  to  detest  him — or 
he  you?  Isn't  it  awful  you  should  not  be  able  to 
get  rid  of  one  another  ?" 

Regina's  running  commentary  on  this  speech,  if 
uttered  aloud,  would  have  been,  "Oh,  thank  God! 
nothing  but  death  can  separate  us — nothing  but 
death  !    O  righteous  law  !" 


HINC   ILL^l   LACHRYM^.  187 

There  were  two  ladies  waiting  in  the  great  Arbi- 
ter's salon.  Madame  St.  Gignoux  gave  them  a 
glance:  they  were  not  of  her  world,  and  therefore 
she  went  on  talking  to  Regina  as  though  they  had 
not  been  present. 

But  Regina's  attention  wandered;  her  eyes,  in 
spite  of  herself,  would  turn  to  the  elder  of  the  two 
strangers.  Her  memory  was  making  a  painful  effort 
to  recover  the  name  belonging  to  that  striking  face. 
She  was  convinced  she  had  ^wn  it  before. 

At  last  the  lady  extricated  her  from  her  perplexi- 
ty.     She  came  forward,  saying — 

"  Has  Madame  Paul  Latour  de  la  Mothe  forgotten 
me?" 

At  the  sound  of  the  voice,  Regina  instantly  re- 
called the  name,  and  exclaiming,  "Madame  Aubry  !" 
held  out  her  hand. 

Regina  returned  home  so  excited  by  the  events  of 
the  afternoon,  that  she  poured  out  all  her  informa- 
tion pell-mell  to  her  husband  :  scraps  of  Madame  de 
St.  Gignoux's  conversation  mingling  with  what  had 
passed  between  her  and  Madame  Aubry,  and  with 
descriptions  of  Madame  Aubry. 

"Mademoiselle  Lucile  has  a  nice  droll  little  face. 
She  is  not  so  pretty  as  her  mother.  I  am  sure  she 
i<  clever.  She  is  not  at  all  like  her  mother — except 
her  nose,  and  that  is  the  worst  part  of  Madame  Au- 
bry V  face.  Madame  Aubry  is  very  much  changed. 
I  did  not  recollect  her  at  first." 

Paul  listened  to  this  chat  in  silence. 

"  Changed  in  appearance,  I  mean,  not  in  mauner 

9 


188  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

Sometimes  she  spoke  quite  kindly,  and  then,  all  at 
once,  she  was  as  cold  as  ice.  I  don't  think  she  liked 
M.  W taking  me  for  her  daughter." 

"  It  does  not  say  much  for  his  perspicacity,"  re- _ 
marked  Paul. 

"  She  might  be  my  mother.  She  is  sixteen  years 
older  than  I  am." 

Paul  made  no  answer.  He  gathered  from  all  Re- 
gina  said,  that  Madame  Aubry  had  not  mentioned 

haviner    met   him  at   the  Princess  M 's   dinner. 

Some  consciousness  had  kept  him  silent  as  to  the 
meeting,  and  it  appeared  that  Adeline  also  had  felt 
a  difficulty  in  alluding  to  the  circumstance.  It 
would  have  been  as  well  had  he  questioned  himself 
as  to  the  reason  of  such  a  reticence. 

On  the  following  day,  Madame  Aubry  and  Lucile 
came  to  the  Rue  Bleue.  Regina  received  them  with 
that  sort  of  cordiality  which  has  its  source  in  the 
recollection  of  former  acquaintanceship.  They  had 
a  subject  in  common — Juvigny.  Regina  supposed 
it  a  pleasant  subject.  In  her  unconsciousness  she 
really  tortured  Madame  Aubry,  not  only  by  the 
memories  she  innocently  and  ruthlessly  aroused,  but 
by  her  manner  toward  Paul ;  for  Regina  had  sent 
for  her  husband  as  soon  as  Madame  Aubry  arrived. 

Madame  Aubry  said  to  herself,  in  an  after  medi- 
tation, that  it  was  stupid  and  unjust  to  resent  Re- 
gina's  wifely  familiarity  toward  Paul — it  was  so  com- 
pletely a  matter  of  course ;  and  yet,  good  heavens  ! 
how  every  "we"  pronounced  by  Madame  Paul 
stabbed  her! 


HINC   ILLM  LACHRYM^.  189 

Regina,  as  well  as  Paul,  accompanied  Madame 
Aubry  and  her  daughter  to  the  carriage ;  and  Ade- 
line, as  they  drove  off,  saw  Regina  put  her  arm 
within  her  husband's,  as  together  they  re-entered  the 
house. 

"I  would  rather  have  seen  him  lying  dead," 
thought  Adeline. 

"  How  beautiful  Madame  Paul  Latour  is !"  Lu- 
cile  was  saying  ;  adding,  "  and,  Mamma,  do  you 
know  I  think  that  she  and  her  husband  are  alike  ?" 


All  those  who  had  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing 
Regina  from  the  time  of  her  marriage,  perceived  a 
striking  change  in  her  during  this  second  winter. 
That  calmness  expressed  by  her  whole  person,  the 
more  charming  as  no  one  could  doubt  it  proceeded 
from  ignorance  of  all  the  little  meannesses  of  so- 
ciety, from  an  absence  of  all  unholy  curiosity — that 
peculiar  calmness  had  disappeared.  In  its  place  was 
a  look  of  intense  inquiry,  the  attitude  of  one  always 
on  the  alert. 

There  are  people  in  every  circle  whose  amuse- 
ment it  is  to  watch  others,  and  whose  pleasure  con- 
sists in  improvising  romantic  or  scandalous  stories 
— people  who  give  a  meaning  to  the  raising  of  an 
eyebrow,  to  the  choice  of  a  flower,  even  to  the  mo- 
tion of  a  foot.  It  was  among  this  class  that  first 
arose  whispers  that  Madame  Latour  was  unhappy 
with  her  husband ;  it  was  first  observed  by  them, 
that  however  smiling  and  at  her  ease  she  might  be, 


190  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

the  moment  Madame  Aubry  appeared  her  features 
contracted,  and  that  she  never  shone  to  less  advan- 
tage than  when  that  lady  was  paying  her  the  most 
friendly  attentions. 

Unfortunately,  some  of  these  observations  were 
true.  That  sort  of  vague  distaste  which  Regina  had 
felt  toward  Madame  Aubry  on  their  first  meeting 
at  Juvigny  had  deepened  into  distrust.  Regina  had 
lost  her  childlike  ignorance  of  men  and  manners. 
When  she  married,  she  believed  that  the  ceremony 
of  marriage  irrevocably  secured  her  Latour's  heart 
as  well  as  hand.  At  first,  she  saw  and  heard,  with- 
out heeding,  things  tending  to  enlighten  her  igno- 
rance on  this  point.  But  the  hour  comes  sooner  or 
later  when  some  one  plays  the  part  of  Psyche's  sis- 
ter, asking,  "Do  you  know  whom  it  is  you  love? 
Maybe  a  monster !  You  must  try  and  find  out." 
Then  begins  the  cruel  series  of  hopes  and  fears,  of 
doubts  and  suspicions,  out  of  which  the  poor  seeker 
emerges  too  often  with  life  saved,  but  treasure  lost. 

Into  this  sad  period  of  striving  after  light  and 
knowledge  Regina  had  entered ;  and  it  happened  to 
her,  as  to  other  discoverers,  that  what  she  had  been 
groping  after  in  the  dark  was  suddenly  revealed  to 
her  by  a  chance  word. 

She  was  at  a  large  evening  party,  seated  next  to 
two  ladies  who  were  strangers  to  her.  They  spoke 
without  any  care  as  to  being  overheard.  The  elder 
of  the  two  was  saying  as  Regina  sat  down,  "  Yes,  it's 
the  first  marriage  I  ever  made,  and  I  am  quite  proud 
of  it.     Both  families  are  pleased." 


HINC   ILLiE   LACHRYM^.  191 

"  I  thought  she  was  to  have  married  Monsieur 
Bourdoin,"  said  the  younger. 

"  That  went  off  because  his  mother  thought  her 
too  pretty — thought  it  would  he  ridiculous  to  have 
it  said  that  at  five-and-thirty  he  had  married  for 
love,  and  that  he  would  be  safer  with  one  less  attrac- 
tive." 

"No  wonder,  when  one  sees  what  passes  every 
day  and  hour.  You  have  heard  about  the  Meil- 
lerays  ?" 

" Good  heavens !    How?     What?     When?" 

"  The  baron  came  home  unexpectedly — you  under- 
stand— in  short,  there's  a  separation." 

"  I  am  not  astonished.  Just  look  at  that  handsome 
Latour,  scarcely  a  year  married,  and  see  how  he  is 
paying  court  to  Madame  Aubry." 

"  An  old  love — on  revient  toujours — she  is  a  fin- 
ished coquette.  It  was  she  who  caused  the  death  of 
poor  de  Suzet,  one  of  our  Embassy  attaches,  at  St. 
Petersburg ;  played  fast  and  loose  with  him,  till  one 
fine  day  he  blew  his  brains  out  almost  in  her  sight. 
Ah  !  Monsieur  St.  Leu,"  to  a  gentleman  passing, 
"  have  you  heard  of  the  Meillerays  ?" 

"  I  saw  them  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  this  after- 
noon— he  was  driving  her  in  his  curricle." 

"  Then  there  can  be  no  truth  in  the  report  of  their 
being  separated  ?" 

"A  grain,  just  a  grain,  I  suspect." 

"  Ah  !  Well,  if  they  have  made  it  up,  it's  no  busi- 
ness of  ours  what  she  has  done  or  has  not  clone." 

This  conversation   was   sufficient.     All   Regina's 


192  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

vague  suspicions  had  assumed  a  shape.  She  pressed 
her  hand  against  her  heart  to  still  its  throbs  of  tu- 
multuous pain.  From  that  evening  the  serenity  which 
had  been  one  of  her  marked  traits,  the  indication  of 
a  happy  equilibrium  between  duty  and  affection, 
disappeared.  Her  love  for  her  husband  suddenly  as- 
sumed all  the  character  of  a  violent  passion,  and 
passion  gives  supernatural  powers — it  divines.  Re- 
gina  thought  over  her  visit  to  Juvigny,  and,  little 
by  little,  the  past  of  Paul  and  Adeline  Aubry  was 
revealed  to  her.  Circumstantial  evidence  crowded 
on  her.  The  mutual  dislike  between  Paul's  mother 
and  Madame  Aubry;  the  constant  recurrence  of  Ad- 
eline's features  in  Paul's  sketches  ;  that  long  roll  of 
fair  hair.  Ah,  well !  there  was  no  help,  she  must  be- 
lieve it;  Paul  had  loved  Adeline  Aubry ;  but  now, 
though  he  might  show  her  attention,  it  could  not  be 
love.  Adeline  was  old  for  a  woman,  and  had  lines 
round  her  eyes  and  mouth.  Girls,  nay,  even  women, 
have  such  a  faith  in  the  power  of  beauty  and  youth; 
they  cannot  realize  the  fact  that  a  woman,  sometimes 
old  enough  to  be  their  mother,  can  and  may  be  a 
dangerous  rival.  They  do  not  believe  that  the  years 
which  steal  away  freshness  from  the  complexion,  or 
imprint  a  line  round  eyes  and  mouth,  bring  knowledge, 
and  that  knowledge  of  any  kind  is  power.  A  young 
wife  is  exacting,  often  cross;  a  woman  such  as 
Madame  Aubry,  when  she  has  reached  within  a  few 
years  of  forty,  and  wishes  to  please,  is  always  smiling, 
flattering  forbearing;  and  if  she  has  to  do  with  the  ir- 
ritable organization  peculiar  to  poets,  painters,  or  mu- 


HINC   HUE   LACHRYMJE.  193 

sicians,  knows  how  to  restore  to  them  the  confidence 
in  themselves  which  in  some  hour  of  disappointment 
they  have  lost — knows  how  to  rouse  them  from  those 
prostrations  of  spirit  into  which  they  are  prone  to 
fall.  Once  a  man  has  sipped  of  the  cup  of  cordial 
offered  by  an  enchantress  of  this  kind,  her  age  or  ap- 
pearance matters  little ;  her  empire  over  him  will  be 
established. 

Regina  soon  forgot  to  say — 

"  It  is  impossible  that  he  can  love  a  woman  of  her 
age."     Thirty-six  seems  old  to  twenty-one. 

She  passed  into  another  phase — that  of  inner  de- 
but ings,  of  fears,  doubts,  hopes.  Backward  and  for- 
ward she  turned  her  thoughts :  she  lay  in  wait  to 
catch  a  word,  a  gesture  which,  she  said  to  herself, 
should  be  decisive.  Alas  !  only  to  begin  anew ;  to 
pass  from  suspicion  to  hope,  from  hope  to  suspicion. 
Now  lulling  asleep  the  one  and  awakening  the  other  ; 
sometimes  believing  that  she  could  be  resigned,  so 
long  as  she  might  breathe  the  same  air  as  Paul ;  at 
others  about  to  resort  to  some  violent  step — to  leave 
him  ;  the  next  minute  to  dread,  as  the  only  evil  in 
life,  a  separation  from  him. 

Regina's  suffering  can  only  be  understood  by 
those  who  have  gone  through  a  similar  trial.  There 
are  certain  sorrows  universally  acknowledged,  and 
which  receive  universal  sympathy — such  as  loss  of 
fortune,  sickness,  death  ;  but  for  the  anguish  arising 
from  disappointed  or  deceived  affection,  the  majority, 
who  being  a  majority  are  egotists,  content  them- 
selves with  saying — "Oh!  a  few  years  will  cure  all 

13 


194  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

that."     But  the  possibility  of  the  cure  depends  on 
the  character.     Time  lias  no  power  over  the  senti 
ments  of  an  earnest  soul.     For  such  as  Regina — 

Time  but  the  impression  deeper  makes,  / 

As  streams  their  channel  deeper  wear.  * 

It  was  astonishing  how  such  an  appearance  of  in- 
timacy could  be  kept  up  between  two  women  who 
certainly  hated  one  another.  They  had  only  one 
feeling  in  common  between  them,  and  that  was 
exactly  the  source  of  their  mutual  dislike.  On  every 
other  point  or  subject  they  disagreed.  What  one 
praised  the  other  was  sure  to  find  faith;  with.  They 
were  always  on  the  alert  to  contradict  one  another ; 
they  found  means,  in  expressing  their  opinions,  to 
say  the  most  disagreeable  things,  the  one  of  the 
other.  Regina  was  the  least  successful  in  these  bat- 
tles. She  had  naturally  far  less  quickness  of  repartee 
than  her  rival ;  her  thrusts  were  often  awkward — she 
showed  too  plainly  that  she  was  in  earnest. 

Madame  Aubry  was  the  supporter  of  all  the  liberal 
views  of  the  day ;  Regina  of  those  of  a  former  gen- 
eration. The  gentle  young  creature  was  all  in  favor 
of  authority  ;  of  the  privilege  of  class ;  and  most  of 
all,  a  devoted  partisan  of  the  church.  Pure  of  soul, 
and  retaining  all  the  naivete  of  her  early  belief,  she 
was  positively  terrified  at  the  ultra  liberality  of  Ma- 
dame Aubry  in  religion  and  morals. 

Madame  Aubry  had  what  Regina  was  most  want- 
ing in,  a  great  mastery  of  language.  She  could  say 
everything  she  wished  as  she  would  wish  it  said* 


HINC   IULM   LLCHBYMiE.  195 

even  turn  Regina  into  ridicule  before  Paul,  without 
exciting  :i  doubt  that  she  intended  to  wound  his 
wife.  Regina  keenly  felt  her  own  want  of  weapons 
with  which  to  defend  herself.  She  was  well  aware 
that  Adeline  took  every  opportunity  of  making  her 
deficiency  apparent.  When  by  any  happy  chance 
Regina's  native  good  sense  had  given  her  the  advan- 
tage, or  when  Paid,  as  he  occasionally  did,  sided 
with  his  wife,  Madame  Aubry,  by  some  clever  play 
on  words,  some  apt  quotation,  could  always  make 
him  laugh  at  what  he  had  just  approved. 

At  such  moments  it  was  an  overpowering  dread  of 
him  which  stopped  Regina  from  expressing  her  dis- 
pleasure in  very  plain  terms.  Once  after  one  of 
these  bouts  Regina,  alone  with  her  husband,  re- 
curred to  the  discussion,  and  complained  of  Adeline's 
manner  toward  her. 

But  she  never  did  so  again,  for  Latour,  who  had 
been  touched  by  his  wife's  supposed  forbearance, 
was  irritated  to  find  himself  foi'ced  either  to  defend 
or  to  blame  Madame  Aubry.  He  did  control  his 
words,  but  his  eyes  flashed  ominously  as  he  said — 

"  You  are  mistaken.  She  is  a  hon  enfant,  free 
of  all  aforethought :  her  wit  springs  forth  without 
malice." 

Regina,  by  blaming,  had  played  into  her  adver- 
sary's hand. 

A  general  feeling  of  indignation  pervaded  the  little 
circle  of  Paul's  intimates,  when  they  perceived  the 
element  of  mischief  threatening  Regina's  happiness, 
Men  of  the  world,  they  knew  it  was  not  their  place 


196  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

to  interfere  openly  ;  still  it  was  not  forbidden  them 
to  make  an  occasional  sortie  against  the  enemy,  or 
to  come  to  the  rescue  of  the  weaker  side. 

An  interest  other  than  that  which  had  made 
Georges  Tully  erect  her  into  the  Laura  of  his  sonnets, 
was  developed  in  the  Don's  chivalric  breast  for  Re- 
gina.  Calling  on  her  one  day,  he  found  her  alone. 
After  the  first  compliments  had  passed  he  dropped 
into  a  silence  that  embarrassed  her.  But  her  embar- 
rassment was  nothing  to  her  astonishment,  when  he 
suddenly  addressed  her  thus — 

"  If  I  were  going  to  be  married,  I  should  beg  my 
bride  to  study  Madame  Aubry's  manners.  As  a 
man,  I  shall  never  penetrate  the  secret  of  their 
charm ;  a  woman,  I  suppose,  might  master  it.  To 
my  obtuse  male  faculties  it  appears  that  her  object 
is  always  to  amuse.  She  is  a  sort  of  Medea  chiffo- 
niere — gathers  up  every  scrap,  no  matter  from 
whence,  or  how  little  inviting ;  and  then,  by  the 
help  of  her  magic  cauldron,  turns  out  for  our  delec- 
tation a  tissue  of  variegated  hues  that  dazzle  us  so 
pleasantly  we  have  no  inclination  to  examine  of 
what  the  web  is  composed.  I  should  say  to  my 
wife,  'Do  thou  likewise.'" 

Reflecting  afterward  on  Tully's  strange  exor- 
dium, the  j)oor  little  soul  understood  the  advice  he 
meant  to  convey,  and  turned  over  in  her  mind  how 
to  put  it  in  practice.  But  the  Don,  in  giving  his 
counsel,  had  forgotten  some  essential  disadvan- 
tages attached  to  Regina.  First  of  all,  she  was 
Latour's  wife,  and  further,  she  loved  him  with  that 


HINC   ILUE  LACHEYMiE.  197 

blind,  timid  love,  which  women  feel  but  once  in 
their  existence.  Her  excess  of  feeling  hampered 
her.  He  was  the  sole  good  heaven  or  earth  could 
give  her — the  world  without  him  a  blank.  She  was 
always  on  the  watch,  how  not  to  annoy  or  offend 
him ;  how  then  could  she  laugh  or  talk  at  random  ? 
The  woman  who  can  do  this  is  either  sure  of  her 
empire  or  else  indifferent. 

Madame  Aubry  was  not  at  all  the  latter,  and 
pretty  sure  of  the  former.  She  loved  Paul  as  well 
as  her  nature  permitted.  When  she  saw  him,  her 
love  even  acquired  a  certain  intensity.  But  she  had 
done  without  him  very  well  for  years ;  and  though 
her  conduct  had  been  what  is  called  correct,  it  was 
a  correctness  which  had  not  prevented  her  having 
very  sedulous  admirers.  That  enfant  terrible  Lucile 
had  one  day  said  to  a  visitor,  "  I  don't  know  whether 

M.  T comes  for  mamma  or  for  me ;"  and  this 

was  said  in  the  lifetime  of  Monsieur  Aubry. 

Regina  set  earnestly  about  to  copy  Madame  Au- 
bry. She  followed  Tully's  advice  too  literally. 
She  strove  to  collect  all  sorts  of  gossip,  which  she 
retailed  to  Paul  in  and  out  of  season.  Paul  bore  this 
novelty  as  he  did  Regina's  religious  observances — ■ 
with  a  resigned  silence.  However,  there  came  a 
moment  when  his  pent-up  irritation  exploded. 

One  day  that  he  was  extremely  busy,  his  wife  in- 
terrupted him  with  some  frivolous  story.  He  turned 
sharply  on  her,  saying — 

"  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  sometimes  grant 
me  a  little  liberty  to  be  alone." 


198  A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Paul,"  said  Regina,  chang- 
ing color,  for  his  look  and  tone  were  more  bitter 
than  his  words. 

'*  I  see  you  think  me  very  barbarous ;  but,  my 
dear  friend,  if  two  people  are  to  live  comfortably 
together,  they  must  have  a  mutual  respect  for  each 
other's  ways,  habits,  whims,  or  whatever  you  please 
to  call  them.  I  am  very  glad  of  your  company,  but 
there  must  be  a  measure  in  all  things ;  and  I  confess 
it  would  be  a  comfort  to  me  to  be  sure  of  now  and 
then  having  an  hour  to  myself." 

The  vexation  of  weeks  had  at  last  made  itself 
known. 

"  I  will  go  directly,"  and  Regina  began  gathering 
up  her  work  and  books,  for  lately  she  had  estab- 
lished herself  daily  in  a  corner  of  the  atelier.  Per- 
haps she  lingered  a  little  in  the  hope  that  Paul 
would  tell  her  she  need  not  remove  her  work-basket, 
but  he  remained  silent, 

"  Then  you  mean  me  never  to  come  here  ?"  she 
said,  as  she  was  leaving  the  room. 

"  On  the  contrary,  come  as  often  as  you  please. 
I  object  only  to  our  remaining  together  all  day  long. 
A  sort  of  moral  unhealthiness  arises  from  two  per- 
sons being  always  together.  Moderation  is  neces- 
sary even  in  what  is  good." 

Reo-ina  went  out  to  her  own  room  with  a  heart 
bursting  with  grief  and  mortification. 

"  I  weary  him !  I  weary  him !"  she  kept  on  ex- 
claiming. "What  can  I  do?  I  can't  change 
myself.      There's    something   about   me   downright 


HINC  ILLIE  LACHITOLE.  199 

disagreeable  to  him.  I  feel  it.  Iknowit.  How  grave 
he  always  is  with  me  ■  How  his  eyes,  brighten  when 
he  sees  her!  To  love  him,  and  know  1  am  only  a 
bore  to  him !  It's  horrible  to  be  a  load  to  a  man. 
If  I  were  (lead  he  could  marry  Madame  Anbry." 

Regina  did  not  yet  wish  herself  dead.  That  wish 
is  born  with  the  first  knowledge  of  the  treachery  of 
one  trusted  and  loved.  Our  hearts  die  by  inches, 
slowly.  On  that  day  Paul's  wife  felt  the  first  throe 
of  the  death-agony  of  hers.  Paul  was  not  easy  in 
his  mind.  He  was  no  monster,  no ;  merely  a  man 
such  as  every  one  numbers  among  his  acquaintance — 
one  to  whom  hitherto  no  disloyal  action  could  be 
brought  home,  yet  given,  as  we  all  are,  to  self- 
deception.  Finding,  by  some  sleight  of  logic,  that 
not  to  be  wrong  in  himself  which  he  would  have 
condemned  in  another,  he  said — 

u  I  render  to  Csesar  that  which  is  Caesar's.  I  take 
nothing  from  Regina  because  I  enjoy  Madame  Au- 
bry's  society.  Wives  are  always  anxious  to  make 
their  husbands  give  up  their  former  friends."  Still, 
exonerate  himself  as  he  would,  Paul  was  uncomfort- 
able in  his  mind.  He  confessed  to  himself  he  had 
been  too  harshly  candid  with  Regina.  Poor  young 
thing  !  so  innocent  and  so  loving.  Ought  she  to  be 
punished  because  he  had  found  out  his  mistake  in 
marrying  her?  And  why  was  it  a  mistake  ?  Because 
he  had  not  taken  into  his  calculations  that  a  girl  of 
twenty  would  require  some  warmer  sentiment  than 
that  of  good-will ;  that  it  would  be  depriving  her  of 
the  jewel  without   price  of  her  heritage,  to  erase 


200  A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 

love  from  her  life ;  that  nature  would  assert  her 
rights.  And  now  that  he  had  robbed  this  young 
creature  of  the  best  joy  of  her  existence,  mutual 
love,  he  had  added  unkindness  and  contempt  to  the 
deprivation. 

It  is  something  in  his  favor,  some  mitigation  of 
his  conduct,  that  he  was  not  self-contented. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CLOUDS    AND    MIST. 

Madame  Aubry  gave  a  ball.  The  rooms  were,  as 
chroniclers  of  balls  phrase  it,  crowded  with  rank, 
beauty,  and  fashion. 

"  Celebrities  of  all  sorts — from  princesses  down  to 
that  woman  who  can  play  the  harmonium  and  the 
piano  at  the  same  time." 

This  was  what  Lucile  Aubry,  dressed,  by-the-by, 
quite  as  a  little  girl,  said  to  Regina,  behind  whom 
she  was  standing. 

"  That,"  continued  the  young  lady,  "  is  the  man 
who  wrote  the  famous  story  about  Italy.  He  says 
that  women  who  are  fond  of  dress  have  been  pea- 
cocks in  a  world  before  this." 

"  Oh  !  who  can  that  be  ?"  exclaimed  Regina  with 
a  start,  and  directing  Lucile's  attention  to  a  person 
who  was  just  then  entering  the  room.  No  wonder 
she  asked.  The  lady  she  pointed  out  was  a  tall, 
dark  old  woman,  dressed  in  black,  with  a  crown  of 
thorns  in  jet  on  her  head.  Her  still  black  hair  sadly 
required  smoothing;  it  seemed  standing  on  end. 
The  strangest  shades  lay  over  her  face — such  shades 
as  you  see  on  bronze. 

This  person  walked  leisurely  round  the  salons,  car- 
rying her  gloves  in  her  hand.     From  time  to  time 


202  A  TSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

she  stopped  to  examine  any  one  who  attracted  her 
notice. 

"  Who  is  she  ?"  again  whispered  Regina. 

"  Heaven  knows  !"  returned  Lucile.  "  She  looks 
like  the  bad  fairy,  who  has  not  been  invited  to  the 
royal  christening." 

"What  christening?"  said  Regina. 

"  Oh  !  don't  you  remember  the  story  ?"  .  .  . 

The  "  bad  fairy"  was  close  upon  them.  She  stood 
still  and  scanned  Regina  from  head  to  foot,  in  a  cool 
way,  that  nearly  choked  Lucile  with  laughing.  After 
this  inspection  the  woman  in  black  pursued  her  way. 

"  I  must  find  out  who  she  is,"  said  Mademoiselle 
Aubry,  and  glided  into  the  thickest  of  the  crowd. 

"  What  rubbish  this  Russian  woman  has  gathered 
together !"  said  a  voice  close  to  Retina's  ear.  It 
was  Madame  de  St.  Gignoux.  "  She's  well  dressed, 
though,"  as  the  hostess  came  more  fully  into  view. 

Madame  Aubry  was  in  one  of  those  moments 
which  women  who  have  reached  the  line  dividing 
youth  from  middle  age  occasionally  enjoy.  She 
looked  as  young  and  brilliant  as  she  had  done  ten 
years  before.  She  was  in  white,  and  wore  a  coronal 
of  daisies  in  her  hair. 

Her  appearance  at  once  recalled  to  Regina  a  sketch 
of  Paul's,  under  which  was  written,  "  Paquerette." 
Regina  remembered  something  else  also.  She  re- 
membered in  the  first  days  of  her  marriage  saying 
to  Paul,  "  Put  your  foot  on  that  daisy,  and  you  will 
not   die  this  year,"   and  his   loud   exclamation   of 


CLOUDS   AND   MIST.  203 

"  Not  for  worlds !  /  put  my  foot  on  a  daisy — 
Never  /" 

Madame  de  St.  Gignoux  interrupted  these  reminis- 
cences. "  But  dressing  like  a  girl  cannot  make  her 
look  like  one— a  woman  with  a  grown-up  daughter 
might  spare  herself  the  trouble.  She  takes  arsenic 
for  her  complexion,  you  know." 

Here  a  pretty  young  English  girl,  whose  portrait 
Paul  had  lately  painted,  came  running  up  to  Regi- 
na.  "  Madame  Latour,  as  you  are  Madame  Aubry's 
friend,  you  won't  mind  asking  her,  will  you,  who  is 
her  hair-dresser,  and  what  sort  of  petticoat  she  wears? 
Her  dress  hangs  divinely.  I  would  give  anything 
to  know." 

"You  are  Madame  Aubry's  intimate  friend?" 
questioned  Madame  de  St.  Gignoux,  raising  her 
great  eyebrows  to  the  highest  arch  of  surprise,  and 
all  her  features  one  sneer.  "  Pleasant  family  arrange- 
ment." 

"  Would  you  like  to  make  a  tour  of  the  rooms, 
Madame  Latour  ?"  said  Georges  Tully.  "  You  must 
be  tired  of  sitting  so  long  in  one  place." 

Regina  thankfully  accepted  his  arm.  She  wanted 
to  get  away  from  Madame  de  St.  Gignoux's  mali- 
cious company. 

Many  a  murmur  of  admiration  greeted  Regina  as 
she  moved  along.  More  than  one  comment  was 
made  on  Latour's  good  luck.  The  tall  gentleman 
who  had  written  "  that  famous  story  about  Italy," 
said  to  the  painter — 


204  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  Beautiful,  modest,  and  rich.  You  have  drawn 
the  prize  out  of  the  bag  of  blanks." 

"  That  is  Paul  Latour  de  la  Mothe,  the  painter. 
Is  it  not '?"  asked  an  unknown  voice. 

Ilegina  looked  up  and  saw  the  woman  in  black 
by  her  side. 

Madame  Paul  said,  "  Yes." 

"And,  no  doubt,  the  lady  at  whose  side  he  has 
been  all  the  evening  is  his  wife  ;  the  daughter  of 
Xolopoeus,  the  fiddler,  and  granddaughter  of  the 
Comte  and  Comtesse  de  Rochetaillee.  I  may  tell 
those  anxious  about  Madame  Paul,  that  she  is  as  be- 
loved as  she  is  beautiful." 

The  speaker  curtsied  and  moved  on,  still  holding 
her  black  gloves  in  her  dark  wrinkled  hands.  Re- 
gina  watched  the  crown  of  thorns  moving  above  the 
heads  of  the  crowd. 

People  stood  up  to  see  the  strange  woman  as  she 
passed — 

"  Good  heavens  !  she  must  be  mad  !  What  can 
make  her  wear  such  a  curious  thing  on  her  head  ?" 

Some  said,  "  She  was  an  English  duchess  ;  others 
declared  her  to  be  an  American  authoress.  Some 
an  Indian  Princess  come  to  Paris  to  petition  the  Em- 
peror to  redress  the  wrongs  she  had  suffered  from 
the  British  Government.  No  one  ever  discovered 
who  she  was :  perhaps  she  was  one  of  Regina's 
gipsy  relations.     Who  knows  ?" 

"  It's  very  hot,"  sighed  Regina. 

Georges  Tully  led  her  away  to  a  glass  door  open- 
ing on  a  balcony. 


CLOUDS   AND   BUST.  205 

"Are  you  afraid  of  the  night  air?" 

"No;  I  arn  sick  with  the  heat,"  Bhe  replied. 

They  went  into  the  balcony. 

It  was  a  clear  frosty  night ;  the  dark-blue  sky 
spangled  all  over  with  shining  stars.  Above,  all 
bright — below,  all  sombre  ;  trees,  flowers,  grass,  one 
vague  obscurity. 

Regina  stood  so  wrapt  in  her  own  perplexed  feel- 
ings, that  she  was  unconscious  she  was  leaning  on 
the  Don's  arm,  unconscious  that  he  was  murmuring 
one  of  his  odes — something  mystic,  which  accorded 
well  enough  with  the  hour  and  scene.  Any  looker- 
on  might  have  mistaken  the  couple  for  lovers.  Some 
who  peeped  into  the  balcony  smiled  and  wondered 
"  where  M.  Latour  might  be  ?" 

Paul  himself,  at  last,  bethought  him  of  looking  for 
Regina.  lie  sought  and  found  her  standing  as  she 
had  done  for  longer  than  she  knew.  As  soon  as 
she  saw  her  husband,  Regina  said,  without  remov- 
ing her  hand  from  Georges  Tully's  arm — 

"  Is  it  time  to  go  ?  I  hope  so.  I  am  tired,  and 
the  heat  is  overpowering." 

"  Not  here,  at  least,"  retorted  Paul.  "  Come,  don't 
monopolize  Tully  any  longer." 

"  I  am  quite  at  Madame  Latour's  service,"  said 
Georges,  stiffly. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  friend ;  I  see  my  wife  is 
dying  to  get  away.  Au  revoir"  and  Paul  carried 
off  Regina,  still  utterly  unconscious  that  her  hus- 
band was  in  a  white  rage  with  her,  Tully,  and  man- 
kind in  general. 


206  A  PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

Paul  would  not  wait  until  the  carriage  could  be 
got  up  to  the  door ;  he  insisted  on  their  going  in 
search  of  it  themselves.  He  had  withdrawn  his  arm 
from  Regina,  and  somehow  or  other  she  slipped  and 
fell.  Half-a-dozen  coachmen  and  footmen  ran  to 
help  her,  asking  anxiously  if  she  were  hurt.  Paul 
stood  by  without  making  even  an  inquiry. 

"  Voild  au  particidier  qui  adore  sa  petite  fernme" 
said  one  of  the  bystanders — an  ironical  remark 
which  elicited  a  burst  of  laughter. 

Regina's  heart  rose  at  Paul's  marked  indifference ; 
for  the  first  time  she  felt  anger  toward  him.  Xot  a 
syllable  passed  between  them  during  the  drive  home. 
She  jumped  out  of  the  coach  without  touching  his 
extended  hand,  ran  up  stairs,  took  a  light  from  Jo- 
seph without  heeding  his  salutation,  and  went  at 
once  to  her  own  room.  It  was  a  wise  thing  to  do 
in  her  state  of  excitement ;  and  it  would  have  been 
a  wiser  to  remain  there  and  let  the  healing  wings  of 
night  pass  over  her  perturbed  feelings.  But  when 
was  a  young  and  loving  woman  ever  wise  ? 

Paul  was  scarcely  in  his  dressing-room  before  Re- 
gina entered  it.  She  was  magnificent  in  her  anger. 
The  artist's  eye  was  struck  by  the  grandeur  of  her 
beauty,  but  the  man  armed  himself  against  the  scene 
he  foresaw. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Regina  ?"  he  asked,  coldly, 
and  with  eyes  so  full  of  displeasure,  so  mocking  a 
smile  on  his  lips,  that  the  poor  thing  lost  all  her 
courage. 


CLOUDS   AND   MIST.  207 

"Oh,  Paul!  Paul!"  she  said  clinging  to  his  arm 
"  Why  did  you  marry  me  ?" 

"My  dear,  it  is  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I 
am  tlying  of  sleep,  allow  me  to  postpone  the  answer 
to  your  question  till  to-morrow." 

She  turned  at  bay.  "It  is  not  fair,  not  honorable, 
not  gentlemanly,  to  use  me  as  you  do.  I  could  for- 
give you,  yes,  I  could,  if  you  gave  me  a  worthy 
rival,  but— for — an — old  coquette — bah  !" 

He  seized  her  arm.  "  You  had  better  stop,"  he 
said.  "  Go  to  bed  !  Go  to  bed  !  You  have  been  im- 
prudent enough  once  already  this  evening."  She 
stared  at  him.  "Tongues  wag  freely,  Madame  La- 
tour,  when  ladies  remain  ttte-d-ttte  with  gentlemen 
in  a  dark  balcony.  I  knoAv  you  meant  no  harm. 
You  have  simply  given  occasion  for  a  laugh  at  my 
expense,  and  now,  in  self-defence  I  suppose,  you  try 
to  force  a  quarrel  on  me.  Understand  once  for  all, 
that  I  am  not  a  booby,  nor  yet  a  toy  for  a  woman  to 
play  with.  I  am  not  going  to  allow  you  to  dictate 
to  me.  I  shall  do  as  I  please,  and  you  had  better 
conform  yourself  to  rny  wishes."  He  had  hitherto 
spoken  in  a  calm,  though  bitter  tone — now  his  voice 
and  face  betrayed  rising  passion.  "  There  are 
certain  attacks  I  will  not  bear — be  warned — go  to 
bed." 

"  What  had  I  done  that  you  should  see  me  fall, 
and  not  help  me  V1' 

"  You  were  not  hurt.  You  cannot  expect  an 
angry  man  to  be  playing  the  gentle  shepherd." 


208  a  psyche  or  to-day. 

"  But  I  had  clone  nothing." 

"  Nothing !"  he  repeated,  "  when  you  had  flirted 
all  the  evening ;  when  you  had  insulted  the  woman 
in  whose  house  you  were?" 

"I— I  insulted  her?" 

"Yes,  madame,  in  ways  which  all  women,  even 
the  least  gifted,  have  at  their  command.  Your  whole 
conduct  throughout  the  whole  evening  was  an  insult 
to  her.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  did  not  avoid 
her — markedly  so  ?" 

Instead  of  attacking,  Regina  was  forced  to  act  on 
the  defensive. 

"  I  assure  you,  Paul — " 

He  interrupted  her,  all  the  devil  in  him  roused. 

"  You  think  I  have  been  blind.  I  wished  to  be  so. 
I  hoped  you  would  come  to  your  senses,  but  as  you 
choose  war,  war  it  shall  be,  and  blame  nobody  but 
yourself  for  the  consequences." 

The  magnificent  ireful  queen  was  turned  into  a 
poor  little  cowering  girl. 

"  Oh,  Paul !  don't  speak  to  me  in  that  voice— 
don't  look  at  me  as  if  you  hated  me.  I  have  tried 
not  to — to  care." 

"  Care  !  humbug  !" 

Woman's  pride,  woman's  love  both  wounded. 
She  gave  him  one  look,  such  as  a  faithful  spaniel  re- 
ceiving his  death-blow  from  his  master's  foot  might 
give,  and  trembled  out  of  the  room. 

That  was  how  Regina's  first  attempt  to  vindicate 
her  right  to  the  first  place  in  her  husband's  heart 
ended.     Love  is  not  strong  except  to  suffer.     The 


CLOUDS  AND   MIST.  209 

one  who  loves  is  ready  to  bear  all,  save  the  breaking 

of  the  chain  of  slavery. 

Within  a  few  hours,  Madame  Aubry  had  become 
acquainted  with  what  had  passed  on  the  night  of  her 
ball  between  Latour  and  his  wife.  She  had  drawn 
from  Paul  an  account  of  all  that  had  been  said.  He 
had  owned  that  Regina  was  jealous. 

Madame  Aubry  listened  to  him  with  eyes,  those 
eyes  he  had  loved  so  well,  eyes  that  had  taught  hia 
heart  to  beat,  with  an  expression  in  them  he  had 
never  seen,  and  that  he  shrank  from  qualifying. 

Adeline  was  seated  on  one  side  of  the  tire,  Paul 
opposite  to  her.  Out  of  doors,  it  was  a  raw  Jan- 
uary day — in  that  salon,  the  atmosphere  was  of  an 
Italian  spring  day.  Without,  sparrows  with  droop- 
ins  wing  were  searching  for  food  amid  mud  and 
slush,  many  men  and  women  shivering  with  cold, 
wondering  how  they  were  to  dine.  Within,  gold- 
colored  canaries  in  gilded  cages,  a  lovely  woman  in 
soft  warm  raiment,  all  about  her  bespeaking  luxury 
and  elegance. 

There  was  a  long  silence  ;  Paul,  quite  unconscious- 
ly, busying  himself  with  the  fire.  He  had  taken  the 
tongs,  and  was,  to  all  appearance,  intent  on  inserting 
bits  of  half-burnt  wood  between  the  large  blazing- 
loo's.  Those  accustomed  to  wood-fires  will  under- 
stand  how  he  was  occupied,  and  also  what  a  degree 
of  intimacy  his  occupation  implied. 

It  was  Madame  Aubry  who  first  spoke,  and  in  her 
harshest  staccato  voice.  "  You  mean  to  say  that  she 
is  jealous  of  me." 

14 


210  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

He  turned  from  the  fire  and  looked  at  her,  anx- 
iously. 

She  continued,  "And  you  have  come  to  give  me 
warning  that  we  must  cease  to  see  one  another,  to 
tell  me  that  your  wife's  caprices  must  be  respected." 

Paul  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  answered,  cold- 

"  Are  all  women  alike  unreasonable  ?  I  came  to 
you  for  counsel  and  sympathy,  and  you  seem  in- 
clined to  play  as  childish  a  part  as  Regina." 

"  I  am  a  woman,  and  not  an  angel,"  she  said,  soft- 
ly— oh !  so  softly  caressing  ! 

He  took  his  eyes  away  from  her  with  a  start. 

She  went  on  with  vibrations  in  her  voice  that  sent 
a  subtle  fire  through  his  every  vein.  "  I  am  ready 
to  do  whatever  you  think  best  for  your  comfort.  I 
would  give  you,  if  I  could,  all  my  share  of  happiness 
now  and  forever." 

Some  inarticulate  sounds  issued  from  his  lips. 

She,  as  if  moved  by  an  uncontrollable  impulse,  as 
if  long-restrained  feelings  would  burst  forth,  ex- 
claimed, "  Paul,  do  you  remember  when  I  was  Pa- 
querette  for  you !  Oh  !  those  happy,  happy  days  ! 
My  marriage  was  not  my  doing ;  you  know  it.  You 
gave  me  up — yes — you  did,  you  loved  art  more  than 
me.  I  wished  to  wait.  My  mother  said,  if  two  or  three 
years  more  went  over  my  head,  my  freshness  would 
be  faded ;  and  with  my  small  dot,  it  would  be  more 
difficult  to  marry  me.  And  then,  just  when  I  was 
again  free,  came  your  marriage.  I  would  rather 
have  heard  of  your  death.     There  are  griefs  which 


CLOUDS   AND   MIST.  211 

ought  to  kill,  Imt  which  fail  to  do  so.  1  deceived 
myself  when  I  thought  you  had  nothing  to  do  with 
my  wish  to  come  to  Paris.  What  I  felt  on  our  first 
meeting  ought  to  have  warned  me  to  avoid  you ; 
but  have  I  ever — tell  me — have  I  ever  sought  to — 
to — "     She  paused. 

His  whole  soul,  heart,  and  body  were  as  wax  in 
her  hands.  Just  enough  truth  in  her  words  to  give 
them  unerring  power ;  just  little  enough  of  love  not 
to  rob  her  of  all  her  tact. 

Paul's  face,  as  she  put  her  last  question,  was  hid 
in  his  hands.  She  came  and  sat  down  by  him.  He 
held  out  his  hand  to  her;  she  clasped  it  in  both  hers, 
bent  down  her  head,  laying  her  cheek  on  it,  then 
her  lips. 

"  Oh  !  my  God — my  God !"  she  heard  him  mutter. 

She  had  no  compassion  on  him.  She  wanted  to 
make  him  suffer — it  was  very  sweet  to  revenge  her- 
self. 

She  kept  his  hand  prisoner,  and  with  one  of  her 
taper-fingers  traced  the  letters  of  his  name  on  the 
upturned  palm.  Paul  had  forgotten  Regina's  ex- 
istence. 

Chance  befriended  him  in  sending  Lucile  to  end 
the  tete-d-tete. 

Madame  Aubry  did  not  yield  to  Paul's  effort  to 
withdraw  his  hand  as  the  young  girl  appeared.  She 
held  it  firmly,  and  called  out,  "  Come  here,  ma 
2)etite  •  I  want  to  show  you  something  in  M.  La- 
tour's  hand." 

Lucile  did  not  obey  the  call.     She  said — 


212  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  Monsieur  Pictis  wants  to  speak  to  you,  mamma. 
He  says  it  is  of  no  use  his  giving  me  any  more  les- 
sons ;  that  you  might  as  well  throw  your  money  out 
of  the  window,  for  that  I  have  no  more  ear  for  music 
than  a  fish." 

"  Very  frank  and  disinterested  on  his  part,"  said 
Madame  Auhry,  smiling  sweetly  on  her  daughter. 
"  Well,  my  heart,  give  him  up." 

"  I  don't  need  to  do  that,"  said  Lucile.  "  He 
gives  me  up." 

"  It  is  much  the  same,  is  it  not,  little  Opposi- 
tionist ?" 

"I  don't  think  so,  mamma.  Then  I  may  tell  him 
you  agree  ?" 

"  Perfectly.    Ask  how  many  lessons  you  have  had." 

Lucile  went  away  without  addressing  so  much  as 
a  look  of  recognition  to  Latour. 

"  She  is  such  a  strange  girl ;  so  difficult  to  man- 
age," observed  the  mother. 

"  Strange  !     In  what  way  ?"  asked  Paul. 

"  Possessed  by  a  spirit  of  contradiction,  and  jeal- 
ous of  me  !  almost  sure  to  dislike  all  those  I  prefer, 
and  vice  versd.  For  instance,  she  adores  her  fat, 
ugly  governess,  whom  I  detest,  and  will  not  hear  of 
parting  with  her." 

"And  I  am  no  favorite?"  said  Paul. 

"  You  were,  but  if  she  has  taken  it  into  her  head 
that  you  have  any  influence  with  me,  she  will  prob- 
ably take  an  antipathy  to  you." 

"  Not  to  excite  her  ill-will  further,  I  will  say  good- 
bye now." 


CLOUDS  AND   MIST.  213 

"  Sans  adieu !"  said  Madame  Aubry. 

"  Sans  adieu !"  he  returned. 

Poor  Lucile !  she  had  been  brought  up  in  a  bad 
school ;  she  had  come  to  understand  Madame  Aubry, 
and  this  young  girl  of  sixteen  had  set  herself  the 
uncommon  task  of  protecting  her  mother. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  how  uncomfortable  matters 
were  in  the  Rue  Blene.  Hypocrisy  was  not  among 
Paul's  faults.  He  attempted  none  with  Regina. 
His  heart  had  turned  against  her.  Prejudice  can- 
not see  clearly,  aversion  is  totally  blind ;  and  at  this 
time,  Paul  actually  disliked  his  wife.  He  manifested 
toward  her  a  constant  disapprobation,  betrayed  not 
so  much  by  words  or  overt  acts,  as  by  looks  and 
gestures. 

It  is  possible  to  live  tolerably  well  with  those  who 
are  indifferent  to  you,  however  opposed  their  senti- 
ments and  tastes  may  be  to  yours;  but  with  one 
whom  you  love,  even  silence  warns  you  of  an  oppo- 
sition of  feeling  that  cuts  you  to  the  quick. 

At  times  Resrina  was  moved  to  make  her  husband 
see  how  much  she  suffered.  She  thought  it  would 
be  a  consolation  to  say  to  him,  "Try  and  understand 
how  wretched  I  am."  But  the  expression  of  his  face, 
when  they  were  alone,  either  mocking  or  stern, 
frightened  the  words  of  her  intended  appeal  out  of 
her  head. 

All  this  time  Latour  observed  the  proprieties  of 
life.  He  appeared  with  his  wife  at  every  public 
resort  consecrated  by  fashion.  He  went  to  mass 
with  her,  to  the  Italiens,  to  the  Opera.     She  was  al- 


214  A    PSYCHE    OF    TO-DAY. 

ways  present  at  the  first  representation  of  any  theat- 
rical piece  of  note.     She  was  well  dressed. 

Young  women  of  her  acquaintance   said  to  her, 
"  What  an  enviable  person  you  are !"'   and  Regina 

smiled  assent. 

The  strength  of  her  love  bore  her  up  during  this 
season  of  trial. 

Deep  love,  mid  all  its  wayward  pain, 
Cannot  believe  but  it  is  loved  again. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A   SIGNIFICANT   SILENCE. 

All  at  once,  the  world  began  to  whisper  about 
Madame  Aubiy,  to  couple  her  name  with  that 
of  Paul  Latour.  Like  the  wind  that  bloweth,  and 
you  know  not  from  whence  it  cometh,  were  these 
rumors.  Their  unknown  source  was  in  an  apartment 
under  the  same  roof  with  that  of  Madame  Aubry. 

In  the  Champs  Elysees  you  may  have  remarked 
a  very  large  house — mansion  we  should  call  it  if  it 
were  inhabited  by  one  family.  It  contains  many 
suites  of  splendid  apartments,  let  unfurnished,  and 
in  general  to  foreigners,  i.  e.t  to  Russians  and 
English.  A  vast^or^e  cochbre  divides  the  building 
into  two  parts.  Madame  Aubry  had  the  premier  to 
the  right  of  the  entrance,  Madame  St.  Omer  that  to 
the  left.  Each  division  had  a  separate  staircase. 
Madame  Aubry's  visitors  ascended  by  escalier  A; 
th<  >se  of  Madame  St.  Omer  by  escalier  B.  Each  stair- 
ease  had  its  peculiar  concihrge. 

Madame  St.  Omer  was  that  same  beautiful  llor- 
tense  who,  three  lustres  ago,  had  half  broken  her 
heart  because  Paul  Latour  would  not  take  her  to 
Rome  with  him.  She  wielded  a  sceptre,  such  as  it  was, 
in  Paris,  and  31  ad  a  me  Aubry  was  unfortunate  in  hav- 
ing her  for  so  near  a  neighbor. 


216  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

With  the  career  of  Hortense  from  the  time  of  her 
leaving  Madame  Saincere  up  to  tins  date  we  have 
nothing  to  do.  The  thread  of  her  life  now  gets  en- 
tangled with  that'  of  the  lives  of  those  two  who  had 
possesesd  her  purest  youthful  affections,  Paul  andRe- 
gina.  The  gossip  of  the  two  porters'  lodges  ascended 
to  her  through  her  lady's-maid,  and  it  set  her  to 
using  her  own  eyes.  Women  are  contradictory  be- 
ings. Madame  Auhry  would  rather  have  seen  Paul 
dead  than  married,  would  have  condoned  any  other 
act  than  that ;  Hortense  could  forgive  his  marriage, 
but  no  other  tie.  She  retained  besides  a  lingering 
interest  in  Regina. 

And  now  it  is  easy  to  comprehend  how,  with 
Hortense  under  the  same  roof,  Madame  Aubry 
be^an  to  be  talked  of  wherever  men  of  the  world 
congregated. 

Adeline  treated  the  matter  very  lightly  to  Paul. 

"  Let  them  talk,"  she  said,  "  it  will  be  an  affair  of 
nine  days.  There  never  would  have  been  a  word 
said  had  your  wife  not  ceased  to  come  and-  see  me." 

Upon  this  hint  Paul  acted.  When  he  returned  to 
dinner  he  asked  Regina  "  why  she  never  went  now  to 
see  Madame  Aubry  ?" 

Regina  answered,  "  As  you  were  angry  with  me, 
I  supposed  she  would  be  so  also." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"  Paul,  why  do  you  look  at  and  speak  to  me  so  an- 
grily ?     I  am  ready  to  do  anything  you  desire." 

"  Your  own  heart  should  dictate  your  conduct. 
Do  you  think  it  right  to  neglect  a  person  who  has  al- 


A   SIGNIFICANT   SILENCE.  217 

ways  treated  you  kindly,  and  is  one  of  your  hus- 
band's earliest  friends?" 

"  I  will  go  and  see  her  to-morrow." 

Paul  and  Regina  were  each  acting  weakly  and  in- 
sincerely. Nothing  leads  more  certainly  to  a  deteri- 
oration of  character  than  to  live  in  a  state  of  contin- 
ual deception.  Stirling  our  convictions,  struggling 
to  conceal  our  real  sentiments,  hiding  our  honest 
disapprobation,  setting  forth  one  motive,  and  acting 
from  another,  are  all  things  that  take  virtue  out  of 
us.  We  end  by  losing  faith  in  others,  because  we 
have  lost  it  in  ourselves. 

Regina  paid  her  visit,  and,  to  outsiders,  the  inti- 
macy between  the  two  families  had  never  been 
shadowed  by  a  cloud  of  disagreement.  Indeed, 
Madame  Aubry  and  Regina  were  seen  almost  con- 
stantly together  in  public.  It  is  surprising  what 
hearts  can  bear,  and  not  break. 

That  lovely,  pale,  dark-eyed  Regina  on  the  left  of 
Paul  at  the  theatre,  so  tranquil  in  appearance,  is  en- 
during a  slow  torture.  There  is  nothing  trifling  in 
love ;  and  it  is  torture  to  her  to  sit  there  and  feel 
that  Paul  has  no  thought  of  her — to  see  him  address 
all  his  observations  to  Madame  Aubry  on  his  right, 
toward  whom  he  leans  as  naturally  as  the  willow 
to  water. 

The  world  is  too  greedy  of  scandal  to  have  its  ap- 
petite easily  satisfied,  and  in  spite  of  the  apparent 
intimacy  between  Mesdames  Latour  and  Aubry,  the 
world  talked. 

Madame  Saincere,  who   had  vainly  tried   to  win 


218  A  PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

Regina's  confidence  on  the  subject,  turned  to  Paul, 
and  gave  him  her  opinion  roundly.  She  did  not 
spare  him  or  Madame  Aubry. 

"  So  Regina  has  been  complaining  to  you,"  he 
said. 

"  Not  a  syllable  of  complaint  has  passed  her  lips." 

"  If  she  has  not  complained,  then,  I  suppose  she 
is  contented.  My  dear  aunt,  let  us  alone  and  we 
shall  do  very  well.  My  friendship  for  Madame  Au- 
bry has  nothing  in  it  that  intrudes  on  my  wife's 
rights.  You  don't  mean  to  condemn  me  to  no  other 
female  companionship  than  that  of  my  quiet,  silent 
Regina  ?  Had  I  understood  that  marriage  was  to 
debar  me  the  society  of  clever  women,  I  should  be 
still  a  bachelor." 

"  You  forget  that  I  am  aware  of  your  former  pas- 
sion for  Madame  Aubry  ;  that  I  was,  I  may  say,  in 
the  confidence  of  you  both.  She  can  never  be  a  safe 
friend  for  you.  If  she  had  a  grain  of  good  sense 
or  good  feeling  she  would  have  kept  out  of  your 
way.  Instead  of  which,  she  is  killing  your  wife 
by  inches,  and  showing  to  the  world  how  well  she 
can  play  that  great  fish,  Paul  Latour." 

Paul  left  the  Rue  Blanche  in  a  high  state  of  exas- 
peration, and  of  course  went  straight  to  Madame 
Aubry  and  told  her  all  that  had  passed.  Adeline 
mused  awhile,  then  said — 

"Do  you  iliink  our  friendship  worth  some  pres- 
ent discomfort  ?" 

"A  curious  question  from  you  to  me,"  said  Paul, 
adding,  "It  is  for  you  to  decide  ;    the  world,  as  you 


A   SIGNIFICANT    SILENCE.  219 

know,  is   always   harder   on   a  woman   than   on   a 


man." 


"The  world  is  always  gracious  to  those  who  do  not 
fear  it,"  she  returned.  "Besides,  as  long  as  Regina 
and  I  are  on  good  terms  there  is  no  danger.  She  has 
been  less  cold  to  me  lately.  I  have  discovered  many 
charming  qualities  in  her ;  and  she  is  certainly  a 
pretty  creature." 

"  How  good  and  generous  you  are  !"  exclaimed 
Paul,  clasping  her  hand.  "  Not  a  word  of  reproach 
or  bitterness  for  those  who  attack  you — only  kindli- 
ness for  your  enemies.  You  are  a  better  Christian 
than  any  of  them,  though  they  profess  so  much,  and 
make  such  a  show  of  piety." 

There  was  no  more  mention  of  Regina  that  day. 
Madame  Aubry  skilfully  turned  the  conversation  to 
Paul  himself — that  is,  to  his  pictures.  Written  down, 
what  she  said  would  appear  nauseating  flattery;  but 
spoken  with  grace  and  enjouement,  the  object  of  it 
found  it  very  palatable. 

Had  Madame  Aubry's  love  for  Paul  reawakened  ? 
Though  her  life  had  depended  on  her  telling  the 
truth,  she  could  not  have  decided  whether  it  was 
love  or  hatred  she  felt  for  him.  Sometimes  the  one 
feeling  predominated,  sometimes  the  other.  But, 
leaving  aside  love  and  hatred,  Adeline  was  a  true 
coquette.  There  was  a  struggle  to  take  Paul  from 
her,  and  it  determined  her  to  hold  him  fast  at  all 
risks;  besides,  Regina  loved  him,  that  was  the 
weight  which  sufficed  to  make  the  balance  of  her 
scruples  kick  the  beam. 


220  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

One  morniiio-  Regina  received  an  anonymous  let- 
ter ;  it  began  abruptly — 

"  A  well-wisher  of  Madame  Paul  Latour  begs  to 
tell  her  that  the  part  of  the  patient  Griselcla,  which 
she  is  now  playing,  will  not  succeed.  There  is  no 
common  sense  in  it.  Such  meekness  merely  serves 
to  weary  men.  She  who  keeps  in  the  background, 
abdicating  her  right  place,  will  soon  be  overlooked. 
Be  more  of  a  woman.  Show  him  you  can  be  happy 
without  him.  Take  exactly  the  contrary  manner  to 
that  of  your  rival;  drive  him  wild  with  jealousy; 
laugh  at  him  and  his  pictures,  and  I  promise  you 
he  will  soon  come  to  your  whistle." 

Regina  read  this  effusion  twice  over;  wondering 
whom  it  could  come  from.  It  must  have  been 
written  by  some  one  intimate  in  the  house.  Every 
word  implied  a  knowledge  of  Paul's  indifference  for 
her — Burgmiiller  perhaps  ?  Regina  had  often  seen 
his  German  blue  eyes  fixed  on  her  with  compassion ; 
but  no,  the  hand  was  familiar  to  her,  and  it  was  not 
his.  At  last  it  flashed  on  her,  who  her  unknown 
adviser  was.  It  was  Hortense.  Yes,  the  writing 
was  the  same  as  that  on  the  New  Year's  gifts  she 
had  received  regularly  up  to  the  time  of  her  mar- 
riage. Regina's  face  crimsoned  as  she  thought  of 
her  domestic  affairs  being  commented  on  and  criti- 
cised, herself  discussed  and  pitied  in  the  circles  of  a 
certain  world.  It  was  clear  to  her  that  many  among 
those  she  received  in  her  salon  visited  persons  of  a 
very  different  stamp.  Her  whole  heart  rose  against 
advice  proffered  to  her  from  such  a  quarter.     She 


A  SIGNIFICANT   SILENCE.  221 

was  too  young  to  be  indulgent;  too  inexperienced 
to  know  that  none  are  all  evil.  In  that  moment,  of 
indignation  she  forgot  all  Horteuse's  past  kindness. 
Suppose  Paul  should  come  in  and  ask  whom  her  letter 
was  from  ?     She  thrust  it  into  the  fire. 

Not  long  after  this,  Madame  Aubry  had  a  revela- 
tion by  a  significant  silence.  She  received  no  invi- 
tation to  the  Princess  M 's  fancy  ball.     Feminine 

instinct  pointed  unerringly  to  her  intimacy  with 
Latour,  as  the  cause  of  the  omission.  Yet  she  had 
never  violated  any  of  the  proprieties ;  had  conformed 
to  the  exigencies  of  society's  laws.  Some  inimical 
influence  was  at  work  against  her.  She  had  talked 
to  Paul  of  defying  the  world.  Yes,  that  is  Regina 
and  Regina's  intimates,  but  not  the  court  and  prin- 
cesses. There  was  not  passion  enough  left  in  her 
love  for  that.  And  besides,  would  Paul  remain 
uninfluenced  by  public  opinion  ?  She  said  to  herself 
bitterly  enough — "  He  cares  more  for  the  success  of 
one  of  his  pictures  than  for  any  woman  breathing." 
Thinking  thus,  was  it  not  strange  that  she  held  so  to 
him? 

Madame  Aubry's  behavior  to  Latour  at  this 
period  singularly  resembled  that  of  Regina,  and  yet 
impossible  for  the  same  result  to  have  more  contrary 
motives.  Adeline  maintained  an  unbroken  silence 
as  to  the  mortifications  inflicted  on  her.  Not  an 
allusion  to  any  neglect.  It  was  only  when  Paul, 
taking  it  for  granted  that  she  was  to  be  at  the  fancy 
ball,  proposed  that  she  and  Regina  should  go  to- 
gether, that  she  told  him  she  had  not  been  invited. 


222  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  How  is  that  ?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Some  caprice,  probably." 

"  Nonsense ;  it  must  be  some  mistake  ;  the  invita- 
tion has  been  lost." 

"  Possibly,  but  it  is  of  no  consequence.  Has 
Regina  decided  on  her  dress  ?  Is  it  to  be  Swiss, 
Greek,  or  Italian  ?  A  Roman  costume  would  suit 
her  best." 

"  You  are  concealing  something  from  me.  If  I 
thought  any  slight  was  meant  to  you  my  wife  should 
not  go." 

Madame  Aubry  always  winced  when  he  said,  "  My 
wife." 

"  Don't  be  childish,  Paul ;  if  a  slight  is  intended, 
the  best  way  to  make  it  innocuous,  is  not  to  appear 
to  understand  it.  Any  demonstration  of  anger  on 
your  part  would  be  injurious  to  you  and  me.  You 
must  not  make  yourself  enemies  among  those  in  high 
places.  Let  me  alone,  I  can  defend  myself.  Those 
who  have  a  clear  conscience  can  afford  to  wait  for 
justice." 

Madame  Aubry  sent  Paul  away  that  day  more 
than  ever  impressed  with  her  greatness  of  soul,  and 
with  her  devotion  to  himself.  He  did  honestly  credit 
her  with  a  rare  power  of  self-sacrifice.  He  who  had 
given  her  up  in  the  heyday  of  youth  for  the  sake  of 
art,  was  now  ready  to  offer  her  unlimited  service. 
He  perceived,  and  enthusiastically  appreciated  in 
her  the  self-same  conduct  which  passed  unnoticed  in 
Hegina.  His  self-deception  went  so  far  that  he  had 
taken  up  the  notion  that  he  owed  something  like 


A    SIGNIFICANT   SILENCE.  223 

reparation  to  Madame  Aubry  for  his  having  a  wife. 
He  argued,  as  madmen  do,  from  false  premises. 

Since  the  day  Paul  had  dismissed  her  so  cavalierly, 
Regina  had  never  gone  to  the  painting-room  unless 
obliged  by  some  circumstance  to  do  so.  She  was, 
nevertheless,  perfectly  aware  that  Madame  Aubry 
visited  Paul  there  constantly.  Indeed  he  never  con- 
cealed the  fact. 

It  was  one  April  morning  that  Joseph  came  to  the 
salon,  and  told  "  Madame  that  Monsieur  would  be 
glad  if  she  would  go  to  him  in  the  atelier." 

Regina  went  with  a  beating  heart.  Madame  Au- 
bry was  standing  before  the  fire,  and  Paul  had  a 
letter  in  his  hand. 

"  I  have  just  waited  to  give  you  my  congratula- 
tions," said  Madame  Aubry,  kissing  Regina.  "I 
shall  leave  Latour  to  explain." 

She  left  the  room,  saying  hastily  to  Paul — 

"  I  can  find  my  way  by  myself.  Go  back  and  tell 
her  at  once." 


CHAPTER  XXL 

DARK   SHADOWS   FLEE. 

As  Paul  came  toward  Regina,  he  was  startled  by 
her  excessive  paleness.  Madame  Saincere's  words, 
"  You  are  killing  your  wife  by  inches,"  flashed  across 
his  mind.  Not  only  was  she  pale,  her  face  had  lost 
all  its  roundness,  and  her  features  had  a  pinched 
look. 

"  What  is  it  you  are  to  tell  me  ?"  said  Regina,  in 
a  voice  sharpened  by  emotion. 

"  No  bad  news  !"  he  said,  but  hesitated. 
Regina's  eyes  were  fixed  anxiously  on  his. 
"There  is  no  need  of  preparation,"  he  went  on. 
"  The  Emperor  of  Russia  has  sent  me  (I  owe  it  to 
Madame  Aubry)  a  gracious  invitation  to  go  to  St. 
Petersburg  to  paint  the  Empress's  portrait,  and  some 
pictures  for  her  majesty's  summer  palace." 

"  Yes,  and  wfiat  more  ?"  said  Regina,  and  he  saw 
her  lips  quiver  violently. 

"  Well,  of  course  I  must  accept.  It  will  only  be 
an  absence  of  two  or  three  months.  It  would  be  the 
height  of  folly  to  refuse  such  a  proposal ;  and  you 
have  too  much  ffood  sense  to  wish  that  I  should  do 
so.  I  shall  go  to  Russia,  instead  of  to  Greece,  as  I 
had  intended.     An  artist  must  have  change  of  scene 


DARK   SHADOWS   FLEE.  225 

from  time  to  time,  to  nourish  his  imagination.     My 
absence  will  be  now,  instead  of  later  in  the  year." 

"And  does — "  Regina  paused,  then  said,  hastily, 
"  Do  you  go  alone  ?" 

Paul  had  perfectly  understood  the  drift  of  her 
question ;  but  he  answered  as  if  he  had  not.  He 
said,  coldy — 

"  I  thought  you  would  understand  without  my 
pointing  them  out,  all  the  inconveniences,  or  rather, 
impracticabilities,  of  your  accompanying  me.  The 
wives  of  soldiers  and  sailors,  of  engineers,  are  all  com- 
pelled to  submit  to  long  and  painful  separations  from 
their  husbands,  and  those  of  artists  are  often  placed 
in  the  same  predicament." 

Regina  suddenly  threw  her  arms  round  Paul's 
neck,  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears.  He  let  her 
head  lie  on  his  breast  till  he  felt  that  she  no  longer 
trembled  so  convulsively,  then  he  said — 

"  I  am  sorry  that  what  I  consider  a  signal  piece  of 
good  fortune  should  distress  you." 

She  clung  closer  to  him,  whispering — 

"  Paul,  you  do  care  a  little  for  me  ?" 

"Why  should  you  doubt  it?  But,  my  dear  Re- 
gina, we  are  living  in  a  very  matter-of-fact  world — 
not  in  Arcadia." 

Tone  and  words  stabbed  her ;  her  arms  fell  from 
his  neck. 

"  My  idea  of  a  wife's  love,"  he  continued,  "  is  that 
she  should  smooth,  to  the  utmost  of  her  ability,  the 
ruggedness  of  her  husband's  path." 

"You  are  hard  on  me,  Paul,  very  hard." 

15 


226  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  That's  what  women  always  say  when  men  don't 
agree  with  them." 

"I  have  done  my  best^"  began  Regina. 

"  Pray,"  interrupted  Paul,  "  let  us  have  no  recrim- 
ination.    I  make  no  complaints  of  you." 

"  Paul" — and  Regina  seized  his  hands — "  can  you 
honestly  say  I  have  not  done  all  I  could  to  please 
you  ?  Have  I  not  overcome  my  feelings  ?  have  I  not 
over  and  over  again  borne  in  silence  what  almost 
broke  my  heart  ?" 

"  You  surprise  me  !  I  did  not  know  I  was  such  a 
monster,  and  you  such  a  heroine." 

"  God  forgive  you  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  are 
cruel ;  and  it  is  Madame  Aubry  makes  you  so." 

"  Dare  to  say  that  again,"  he  said,  roughly  seizing 
her  wrist,  "  and,  by  the  God  that  made  me,  you 
shall  repent  it  as  long  as  you  live  !"  He  pulled  her 
to  the  window.  "  Do  you  see  that  sky,  this  earth  ? 
She  is  as  superior  to  you  as  the  one  is  higher  than 
the  other.  I  take  heaven  to  witness  that  she  has 
never  said  one  harsh  word  of  you,  though  reasons 
for  doing  so  have  not  been  .wanting.  Remember 
this,  madame,  you  will  never  get  me  to  change  my 
conduct  to  her.  I  reverence  and  esteem  her  beyond 
all  other  women.  Decide  on  your  conduct.  Mine 
will  depend  on  yours." 

Regina  made  no  reply.  She  left  the  room  with  a 
steady  step ;  but  the  steadiness  only  lasted  as  long 
as  she  was  under  Paul's  eye.  She  went  to  her  own 
room,  put  on  her  bonnet  and  cloak,  and  left  the 
house.     She  had  no  definite  purpose  in  going  out. 


DARK   SHADOWS   FLEE.  227 

She  wanted  movement — quick  movement;  her  mind 
was  a  chaos.  People,  as  they  passed,  turned  to  gaze 
after  her,  so  strangely  bright  and  eager  were  her 
eyes — like  those  of  one  hotly  pursued  straining  to 
reach  a  goal. 

Poor  soul !  desolation  was  chasing  her — it  was 
treading  behind  her  with  silent  footstep,  fanning  her 
with  "  silent  wing."  On  she  went ;  crossed  the  noisy, 
dangerous  Boulevard ;  along  the  Rue  de  la  Paix ; 
the  Place  Vendome ;  the  Rue  Castiglione  ;  on — on  ; 
through  the  Tuileries  Gardens ;  on — on  ;  never  stop- 
ping till  forced  to  do  so  by  a  block  of  cai-riages  on 
the  Quay  d'Orsay.  She  turned  to  one  side  and  got 
on  Solferino  Bridge.  She  leaned  against  the  para- 
pet, watching  the  water  moving  sluggishly  below. 
The  early  spring  day  was  darkening  into  twilight, 
and  a  sharp  wind  made  pedestrians  hurry  on  their 
way,  otherwise  it  would  have  been  impossible  but 
that  a  woman  so  young  and  striking  in  appearance 
must  have  attracted  general  notice. 

During  a  momentary  intermission  of  the  stream  of 
wayfarers,  a  stout  man,  nothing  of  his  face  visible 
but  a  pair  of  keen  light  blue  eyes,  turned  to  take  a 
second  look  of  the  figure  in  so  pathetic  and  pictur- 
esqxie  an  attitude.  The  next  instant  he  was  by 
Regina's  side,  exclaiming,  "  3Ion  Tieu !  e'est  cette 
chhre  Matanie  Baul,  ah,  chere  Matame,"  and  then  he 
paused  in  very  real  alarm.  In  that  dim  light  Re- 
gina  looked  to  him  quite  spectral. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  has  happened  ?  Where  is 
your  husband  ?" 


228  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  Take  me  away,"   said  Regina,  "  I  am  so  tired." 

"  Ah  !  where  is  a  coach  ?"  he  exclaimed.  "  Mon 
Tieu,  I  will  run  for  one." 

Burgmuller  had  reached  the  end  of  the  bridge, 
when  he  ran  hack  again,  urged  by  a  sudden  fear. 
Retina  had  resumed  the  attitude  which  had  first 
drawn  his  attention,  but  she  was  leaning  further 
over  the  parapet,  and  he  perceived  that  she  had  got 
up  on  the  ledge  of  the  pilasters.  As  Burgmuller 
reached  her  on  one  side,  a  sergent  de  mile  came  upon 
the  other,  and  taking  hold  of  her  arm,  politely  in- 
vited her  to  change  her  position. 

"Take  me  away,  Monsieur  Burgmuller,"  she  said, 
in  a  faint  voice,  holding  out  her  hands  to  him  with 
the  gesture  of  a  frightened  child. 

"  Here  is  my  card  and  address,  my  friend,"  said 
Ernst,  giving  his  card  to  the  man  in  office.  "  I  know 
this  lady  and  her  friends.  I  will  take  her  home  ;  if 
one  could  only  have  a  coach,  but  in  this  Babylon 
there's  nothing  but  noise  to  be  had." 

The  sergent  de  mile  hailed  a  passing  cab,  but  with 
the  genius  of  his  cast,  suspected  the  couple  at  his 
side  to  be  no  better  than  they  should  be. 

When  they  were  about  half-way  to  the  Rue  Bleue, 
Regina,  who  had  not  answered  one  of  Burgmuller's 
anxious  inquiries,  said  to  his  horror,  "  I  will  not  go 
home." 

"  But  where  will  you  go,  then,  dear  Matame  Baul  ?" 

"  I'm  thinking — give  me  time." 

"  "We  are  close  to  the  Rue  Blanche.  Shall  I  tell 
the  man  to  stop  at  Madame  Saincere's  ?" 


DAEK   SHADOWS   FLEE.  229 

"Yes." 

As  the  coach  stopped,  she  began  to  feel  for  her 
purse. 

"I  have  no  money  with  me,"  she  said,  piteously. 

"  God  bless  me,  what  does  that  matter  ?"  said 
Burgmiiller,  ready  to  cry. 

"  Don't  tell  any  one,"  she  said,  as  he  led  her  into 
the  porte  cochere. 

"Never!"  he  answered,  in  a  voice  that  would 
have  suited  a  conspirator  taking  an  oath.  He  waited 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  till  he  heard  her  ring  at 
and  enter  Madame  Saincere's  door.  Sure  then  she 
was  safe,  he  went  off,  muttering,  "  line  si  cholie 
Vemme  bauvre  betite  tame,  elle  me  douche  le  coeur  / 
ah,  Baul,  Baul,  brends  garde  a  dot,  mon  ami." 

Madame  Saincere's  eagle  eye  rested  for  an  instant 
on  Regina's  troubled  face,  then  she  said,  in  a  cheer- 
ful voice — 

"  Child,  child,  you  look  frozen  to  death.  There, 
sit  by  the  fire,  you  shall  have  some  warm  wine  di- 
rectly ;  first  of  all  a  chaujfrette." 

Regina  sat  down,  shaking  from  head  to  foot ; 
drank  the  wine,  accepted  the  chauffrette."  Little  by 
little  the  shuddering  of  her  body  and  the  quivering 
of  her  lips  ceased  ;   tears  gathered  in  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  now  what  is  the  matter,  my  child  ?"  asked 
Madame  Saiucere,  taking  one  of  Regina's  hands  in 
hers.  She  was  sure  beforehand  that  the  poor  little 
wife  was  in  some  jealous  trouble. 

"  Ah  !  dear  madame,  I  have  been  so  silly ;  I  have 
made  Paul  angry  with  me,  and  he  is  going  away." 


230  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  Going  away  ;    that's  something  new." 

"  Going  to  Russia — going  to  St.  Petersburg." 

"  What  is  taking  him  there  ?" 

"The  Emperor  has  invited  him  to  go  and  paint 
the  Empress's  picture :  but  he  is  so  angry ;  he  said 
such  dreadful  things,  and  looked  as  if  he  hated  me." 

The  floodgates  were  opened,  and  tears — such  as 
the  young  alone  have  to  shed — poured  forth. 

"  You  objected,  then,  to  his  going  ?"  asked  Ma- 
dame Saincere. 

"No.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  said.  I  am 
ashamed  of  it  now ;  it  was  stupid,  wicked  ;  but  it  is 
true,  though.  He  must  not  quarrel  with  me ;  don't 
let  him  quarrel  with  me ;  he  does  not  know  what  I 
suffer.  I  will  bear  anything — everything — only  he 
must  not  look  at  me  as  if  he  hated  me;  as  if  I  was 
in  his  way." 

Madame  Saincere  understood  it  all.  She  would 
have  given  something  to  know  if  Madame  Aubry 
was  also  going  to  Russia.     She  answered — 

"  As  for  Paul  hating  you,  or  thinking  you  in  his 
way,  that  is  mere  exaggeration ;  the  extravagance 
of  passion.  I  dare  say  you  have,  both  of  you,  been 
very  foolish  children,  and  the  best  thing  you  can  do 
is  to  kiss  and  make  friends." 

"  He  won't,"  sobbed  Regina.  "  Once  before  he 
was  angry,  and  it  was  so  long  before  he  forgave  me. 
I  made  such  good  resolutions.  I  meant  to  be  quiet 
and  forbearing.  I  wish  he  were  not  famous,  then 
every  one  would  not  be  trying  to  take  him  from 
me." 


DAKK   SHADOWS   FLEE.  231 

Madame  Saincere  here  exacted  the  tribute  to  her 
foresight. 

"  There  it  is ;  I  warned  you  that  a  woman  who 
marries  a  genius  must  lay  her  account  with  having 
unusual  burdens  laid  upon  her.  Fame  makes  a  bad 
third  at  the  fireside." 

"But  I  would  rather  suffer  as  Paul's  wife  than 
have  peace  with  any  one  else.  I  ought  to  be  more 
patient — more  humble." 

"  Hush  !  there's  his  ring ;  feel  what  you  will,  but 
don't  tell  him  all  this ;  there's  not  a  man  in  the  world 
could  stand  it." 

It  was  Paul,  and  Paul  in  search  of  Kegina. 

Scarcely  had  she  quitted  the  atelier  before  he  felt 
regret  at  his  own  violence.  What  we  are  agreed  on 
to  call  conscience,  told  him  that  his  wife  had  good 
reason  for  complaining.  It  was  not  her  fault  that 
he  had  married  her;  nor  that  she  was  an  inexpe- 
rienced girl,  instead  of  a  clever  woman.  He  had 
never  meant  to  act  unkindly  by  her.  She  loved  him, 
of  that  he  could  not  doubt.  Beautiful  as  she  was, 
had  he  not  occupied  her  whole  heart?  She  might 
have  had  a  crowd  of  adorers.  If  there  was  a  hus- 
band in  Paris  who  could  boast  of  a  wife  in  the  same 
words  as  Collatinus,  he  knew  himself  to  be  that  one. 
Purity  so  shone  in  Regina  that  her  presence  influ- 
enced even  men  who  had  long  ceased  to  respect  any- 
thing, to  be  guarded  in  their  language  and  look 
while  in  her  company.  Once  his  thoughts  had  taken 
this  direction,  a  sensation  akin  to  self-reproach  in- 
vaded his  bosom.     The  wounds  we  inflict  return  on 


232  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

ourselves.  None  of  us,  be  he  judge  or  be  he  crimi* 
nal,  can  escape  from  this  protestation  of  our  common 
humanity  against  hostility  to  our  neighbor. 

Paul  chafed  sorely  in  his  solitary  atelier.  How 
was  he  to  mend  matters?  He  asked  himself  the 
question,  but  averted  his  ear  from  the  answer.  He 
hoped  much  from  this  journey  to  Russia.  He  as- 
sured himself  that  time  was  a  great  arranger  of  diffi- 
culties,— the  force  of  circumstances  generally  sever- 
ing all  Gordian  knots. 

He  took  his  hat  and  went  out,  intending  to  go  to 
the  Boulevard  to  pick  up  the  latest  news  or  scandal. 
But  he  found  himself  in  no  humor  to  enjoy  the  witty 
insinuations  which  kill  reputations  with  so  sprightly 

a  grace.     The  carriage  of  the  Princess  M passed 

quite  close  to  him ;  he  fancied  that  she  turned  away 
her  head  to  avoid  his  bow.  He  was  in  a  mood  that 
made  him  supersensitive.  At  one  moment  he  was 
not  a  hundred  yards  behind  his  wife  ;  but  she  turned 
to  the  left,  and  he  to  the  right,  and  when  she  was 
contemplating  the  dark  moving  river,  he  was  ascend- 
ing Madame  Aubry's  stairs.     . 

Behind  the  lai'ge  glass  doors  of  Escalier  B 

was  visible  a  group  of  persons,  one  of  whom  he  dis- 
tinctly recognized  as  the  Due  de  G.  C .     There 

was  a  lady  among  them.     All  at  once  there  was  a 

burst  of  laughter."     He  went  up  to  Escalier  A , 

wondering  whether  that  sudden  laugh  was  at  his 
expense. 

"  Well,  how  did  she  take  the  news  ?"  asked  Madame 
Aubry.     "  Not  very  well,  I  fear,  from  your  face." 


DARK    SHADOWS   FLEE.  233 

"It  agitated  her,"  lie  answered,  not  intending  to 
repeat  what  had  taken  place  Let  ween  him  and  Re- 
gina ;  but  before  he  took  his  leave  he  had  let  Madame 
Aubry  know  there  had  been  a  quarrel.  She  did  not, 
however,  push  him  to  give  her  the  particulars.  She 
guessed  them  pretty  accurately. 

"  We  must  make  your  going  as  easy  as  we  can  for 
her.  Would  it  not  be  as  well  if  she  paid  your  mother 
a  visit  during  your  absence  ?" 

"  She  shall  do  as  she  likes.  I  will  not  fret  her  by 
any  advice,"  said  Paul. 

"  She  is  very  young  to  be  left  alone  and  in  Paris." 

"  Regina  !  I  could  and  would  leave  her  anywhere 
without  a  moment's  anxiety;  besides,  she  has  Ma- 
dame Saincere  almost  next  door." 

"  You  know  I  would  willingly  offer  her  my  ser- 
vices, but  she  is  too  prejudiced  against  me  to  accept 
of  them." 

"  She's  a  mere  girl,  you  know,"  was  the  vague  re- 
ply;  and  then  he  fell  into  a  reverie  about  the  loud 
lauffh  that  had  issued  from  the  vestihule  of  Escalier 

B .     He  had  forgotten  both  Regina  and  Madame 

Aubry  in  trying  to  imagine  who  that  lady  could  be 
of  whom  he  had  had  only  a  glimpse. 

"  You  have  very  gay  people  on  the  opposite  side, 
haven't  you?"  he  asked. 

"A  grande  dame  of  another  world.  She  is  very 
convenable  ;  and  it's  just  the  same  as  if  we  were  in 
different  houses,"  replied  Madame  Aubry. 

"  What  name  does  she  go  by  ?" 

"Madame  St.  Omer.     Lucile  used  to  go  into  sucb 


234  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

raptures  about  her  beauty  that  I  inquired  who  she 
was." 

"Madame  St.  Omer  was  once  my  aunt's  cook," 
said  Paul;  and  smarting  under  the  idea  that  Hor- 
tense  had  raised  a  laugh  at  his  expense,  he  spoke 
harshly  of  her. 

"  And,  by-the-by,"  he  added,  "  I  never  see  Lucile 
now.     Does  she  avoid  me  ?" 

"  Oh  dear  no.  You  are  as  much  a  favorite  again 
as  ever." 

"  I  should  not  have  guessed  it,"  he  answered. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  not  yet  fixed  when  you  go  ?" 
asked  Madame  Aubry,  without  appearing  to  be  aware 
of  his  ill-humor. 

"  As  soon  as  possible." 

"I  shall  see  you  every  day  before  you  go,  shall  I 
not  ?"  The  question  was  put  with  those  caressing  in- 
flections which  never  failed  of  their  effect. 

"  Surely,"  he  replied;  and  they  sat  hand  in  hand 
for  five  minutes.  With  a  deep  sigh  Paul  roused 
himself  to  go  away. 

On  his  road  home  he  turned  into  a  jeweller's  shop, 
and  bought  an  expensive  bracelet  for  Regina. 

It  was  beyond  the  dinner-hour  when  he  reached 
his  own  door.  On  seeing  him  alone,  Joseph  ex- 
claimed— 

"  How  !  is  Madame  not  with  Monsieur  ?" 

"  Nothing  so  wonderful  in  our  not  being;  together 
to  make  you  look  so  stupidly  frightered,"  said  Paul. 

"  Certainly :  only  Madame  must  be  alone,  and  it  is 
quite  dark." 


DARK   SHADOWS   FLEE.  235 

"  There  are  plenty  of  cabs  to  be  had."  Paul  went 
into  the  salon,  looked  at  the  clock,  took  up  his  hat, 
saying,  as  he  went  out,  "  Madame  must  be  at  Ma- 
dame Saincere's." 

He  had  in  reality  been  uneasy  enough  to  be  glad 
to  find  Regina  with  his  aunt.  However,  the  moment 
he  saw  his  wife's  agitated  face  his  displeasure  le- 
turned. 

"You  are  just  arrived  in  time,"  said  Madame 
Saincere,  promptly.  "  I  was  going  to  send  you  a 
message  to  come  and  dine  here.  Regina,  who  must 
never  boast  of  being  a  heroic  wife,  has  been  telling 
me  of  your  purposed  journey.  Is  it  interest  or  simply 
your  fame  that  has  moved  the  Czar  to  invite  you?" 

"  A  little  of  both  !"  returned  Paul,  not  very  gra- 
ciously. "  Madame  Aubry  knew  that  such  a  mark 
of  favor  would  be  agreeable  to  me,  and  exerted  her- 
self to  obtain  it." 

"  An  excellent  thing  for  your  reputation  and  your 
purse  ;  but  it  gives  a  sore  heart  to  some  one  we 
know." 

"True  affection  knows  how  to  make  sacrifices," 
said  Paul,  sententiously. 

"  We  are  human,  my  dear  Paul ;  and  though  I  be- 
lieve I  love  you  truly,  I  confess  that  the  idea  of  your 
going  so  far  rather  unhinges  me,"  said  Madame  Sain- 
cere. "  I  like  the  sight  of  that  good-looking  face  of 
yoiirs." 

Paul  was  mollified.  Madame  Saincere  kept  the 
conversation  on  the  level  on  which  she  had  placed  it, 
She  had  a  stronger  will  than  Paul,  and  keener  per- 

12 


236  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

ceptions  than  Regina,  therefore  they  yielded  to  her 
influence. 

The   evening   was   really   almost   pleasant.      Dr. 

M came  in,  and  hearing  that  Paul  was  going  to 

Russia,  hegan  a  discussion  on  races,  asserting  as  a 
fact,  as  easily  proved  as  that  two  and  two  make  four, 
that  the  nations  of  the  North  were  preordained  to 
conquer  those  of  the  South. 

To  see  the  Doctor,  you  would  have  supposed  him 
entirely  occupied  by  the  subject  in  hand,  blind  and 
deaf  to  everything  else.  Not  at  all.  His  medical 
eye  was  always  on  the  alert.  As  he  finished  off  a 
tirade  about  the  superiority  of  bone  and  muscle  in 
Scandinavians,  interspersed  with  quotations,  ad  libi- 
tum, from  "  Tacitus"  and  "L'Union  Medicale,"  he  sud- 
denly turned  to  Regina,  and  said — 

"  My  dear  little  lady,  I  shall  call  on  you  at  ten 
to-morrow  morning.  You  require'  looking  after. 
Paul  has  let  you  have  too  much  gayety.  I  can  see 
you  are  half-poisoned  by  vitiated  air.  Go  on  so  and 
you  will  be  wrinkled  as  I  am  in  half-a-dozen  years. 
Paul  will  allow  us  a  tete-d-tSte,  I  hope." 

Paul  said — 

"  Regina  has  been  as  well  as  possible.  I  suppose 
she  has  overwalked  herself  to-day." 

"  Ah  !"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  scrutinizing  look 
at  Regina.  "  My  carriage  is  at  the  door.  I'll  take 
you  both  home.     It  will  save  her  any  more  fatigue." 

So  said — so  done. 

Alone  with  Regina,  Paul  asked — 

"  Why  did  you  not  send  for  Dr.  M if  you 


DARK    SHADOWS   FLEE.  237 

have  been  feeling  unwell.     It's  not   right  to  give 
people  an  impression  that  I  neglect  you." 

"Paul,  don't  be  angry  with  me  any  more  to-day." 
Then  she  leaned  against  him  and  whispered  some 
words. 

"You  little  goose!"  he  said,  holding  her  closer 
to  him.  "Why  did  you  not  tell  me  sooner,"  and 
then  because  he  spoke  tenderly  to  her,  and  because 
she  felt  herself  folded  in  his  arms,  she  began  to  cry 
as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"  You  will  hurt  yourself,  Regina." 

"  Oh  !  no — no,  Paul.  I  am  so  happy  !  I  shall  never 
be  unhappy  again,  or — " 

"  Or  what  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Never  mind  what.  You  shall  never  be  vexed 
with  me  any  more.  However  it  may  seem,  I  will 
always  trust  that  you  are  right,  for  you  are  the  best, 
kindest — ."  The  poor,  passionate  heart  was  trying 
to  speak  out  words  of  love,  the  same  in  all  ages,  yet 
that  each  one  who  loves  believes  new,  and  never 
before  uttered,  burst  from  her  lips. 

All  that  Regina  said  sounded  as  familiar  to  her 
husband  as  a  thrice-told  tale.  He  had  heard  the 
same  loving  assurances  from  many  a  sweet  mouth. 
The  nightingales  have  had  the  same  song  ever  since 
they  were  created,  and  love  has  but  one  gamut. 

"  I  don't  know  when  I  did  not  love  you,"  said 
Regina,  nestling  to  his  breast.  "From  the  first 
moment  I  saw  you,  you  seemed  to  me  an  angel. 
You  remember  when  I  was  a  poor,  unhappy  child. 
I  have  still  the  gold  piece  you  gave  me ;  and  you 


238  A   PSYCHE    OF   TO-DAY. 

looked  at  rue  and  sjjoke  to  me  so  kindly,  and  I  cried 
then  just  as  now.  To  hear  your  voice — to  know 
you  were  coming  to  Madame  Saincere's — to  know 
that  I  was  sure  to  see  you — was  enough  of  happi- 
ness. I  lived  for  those  Sundays  when  you  did  not 
care  a  straw  about  me.  I  did  nothing  but  think  and 
think  of  you — quite  like  dreaming.  If  you  had — 
but  you  do  love  me — if  you  had  not,  I  used  to  make 
plans  how  I  would  disguise  myself  and  be  your  ser- 
vant, and  if  you  married  I  would  take  care  of  your 
children,  and  one  day  when  I  was  dying  you  would 
find  out  how  much  I  had  loved  you."  All  this,  said 
low  and  tremulously,  like  the  whis|3erings  of  a  sum- 
mer breeze  among  the  trees.  As  long  as  he  held  her 
in  his  arms  she  asked  no  response — happy  to  be 
allowed  to  tell  her  innocent  love. 

Paul  kept  silence,  painfully  conscious  that  he  was 
not  in  unison  with  her.  Have  you  ever  tried  to  place 
your  feet  in  the  footprint  they  made  five  minutes 
before,  and  did  you  succeed  ?  He  said  to  her, 
"Pleasant  as  it  is  to  listen  to  your  soft  prattle,  I 
must  send  you  to  bed.  What  will  Dr.  M say  to- 
morrow, if  he  finds  you  in  a  fever?" 

"  Did  happiness  ever  hurt  ?"  asked  Regina. 

"  Happiness  must  go  to  bed  when  midnight  strikes. 
See  here  !  I  bought  you  a  toy  to-day,"  and  he  clasped 
the  costly  bracelet  on  her  arm. 

"Bought  it  for  me! — to-day! — when  I  had  been 
behaving  so  ill !  Oh,  Paul !  how  good  you  are ;  how 
much,  much  better  than  I  am !" 


DAliK    SHADOWS    FLEE.  239 

"Opinions  are  free,"  he  said,  laughing,  and  think- 
ing to  himself,  "  if  deifying  me  makes  her  happy, 
M'hy  should  I  insist  on  opening  her  eyes?  After  all, 
the  best  things  life  has  to  give  us  are  illusions.  God 
help  me,  I  have  not  one  left." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

PSYCHE    INSISTS    02*   LIGHTING    HEE   LAMP. 

It  did  not  need  twenty  words  from  Paul  to  make 
Regina  understand  that  he  was  very  anxious  that  the 
news  she  had  communicated  to  him  the  day  before 
should  not  interfere  with  his  visit  to  St.  Petersburg. 
She  therefore  immediately  began  to  talk  of  the  prep- 
arations for  his  journey,  asking  him  if  he  thought  he 
could  be  back  by  August.  Nothing  she  had  ever 
done  or  said  had  so  touched  Paul  as  this  entering 
into  his  wishes  without  any  blowing  of  trumpets  in 
praise  of  her  self-sacrifice. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  emo- 
tion, and  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

At  the  tender  sound  of  his  voice,  at  the  sight  of 
his  moistened  eyes,  a  wild  desire  of  self-sacrifice 
possessed  Regina.  Could  her  instantaneous  death 
have  served  him,  she  would  have  met  it  without 
flinching.  She  knelt  down  before  him,  and  said,  with 
flashing  eyes,  "  Give  me  something  very,  very  hard 
to  do  for  you." 

He  rested  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  so  preoccujned 
with  his  own  thoughts  as  scai'cely  to  hear  her  words. 
She  drew  his  hand  to  her  lips  and  held  it  there. 

"  I  am  afraid  my  mother  and  aunt  will  advise  my 
giving  up  my  journey,"  said  Paul. 


PSYCHE  INSISTS   ON   LIGHTING   HER  LAMP.     241 

"Because  of  me?"  asked  Kegina. 

"  Had  I  known  sooner,  of  course  I  should  have 
declined;  now,  should  I  do  so,  it  would  be  with  a 
bad  grace,  and  not  only  should  I  be  a  loser  as  to 
money,  but  run  the  risk  of  turning  a  powerful  friend 
into  a  powerful  enemy." 

"No  one  knows  what  I  have  told  you.  We  need 
not  tell  either  your  mother  or  Madame  Saincere  till 
after  you  are  gone." 

"  That's  true  ;  and  you  really  will  not  be  vexed, 
will  not  complain  of  me  ?"  and  he  raised  her  face  to 
his.  He  saw  it  full  of  trouble,  and  thought  it  was 
because  of  his  threatened  absence,  and  not  that  she 
shrunk  from  the  naive  egotism  of  her  idol. 

"  Is  it  not  my  wish,  as  well  as  yours  ?  I  want  to 
do  something  to  prove  my  love  for  you.  I  will  keep 
the  secret,  and  never  own  to  having  told  you.  Go 
quickly,  and — " 

"What?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  nothing ;  I  leave  all  to  you." 

"  I  should  be  easierrif  you  had  somebody  to  watch 
over  you.  Would  you  object  to  taking  Madame 
Aubry  into  our  confidence?  She  is  to  be  depended 
on,  and  could  advise  you." 

"  Xo  ;  if  your  mother  cannot  be  told,  no  stranger 
shall  know.  I  am  very  well  and  strong ;  many  a 
woman  never  tells,  and  is  none  the  woi'se.  If  you 
write  regularly,  and  make  me  believe  that  you 
think  of  me   and  care   about  me,  nothing  will  harm 


me." 


"To  put  any  if  in  the  case  is  absurd,"  said  Paul, 

16 


242  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  and  you  know  it  is.    Women  never  can  be  satisfied 
without  sweet  speeches — " 

Regina  put  a  hand  on  his  lips. 

"Don't  go  on,  Paul;  don't  say  anything  unkind; 
it  will  come  back  on  me  while  you  are  away.  I 
don't  require  you,  nor  wish  you,  to  be  otherwise  than 
you  are.  I  dare  say  I  am  exacting ;  promise  me, 
dear,  not  to  be  angry  with  me  once  before  you  go 
whatever  I  may  do  or  say." 

"  I  am  never  angry  with  you ;  it  is  you  who  are 
always  finding  fault  with  me." 

"  I  won't  do  so  any  more,"  said  Regina,  softly  ; 
her  strength  was  failing  under  this  vain  effort  to 
wring  from  Paul  something  like  a  response  to  her 
own  feelings.  All  her  genius  lay  in  her  heart ;  all  her 
light  came  from  its  noble  inspirations. 

From  this  time  forth  to  the  day  of  Paul's  de- 
parture, she  never  showed  him  any  but  a  cheerful 
countenance.  By  her  manner  of  speaking  of  Paul's 
absence,  she  prevented  any  of  those  insidious  conver- 
sations which  so  often  entrap  into  unwary  admissions 
those  who  wish  to  conceal  their  sentiments.  She 
answered  every  expression  of  surprise  that  she  did 
not  accompany  her  husband,  by  saying,  "  she  had  a 
horror  of  travelling." 

Her  acquaintances  said,  "How  little  one  can  judge 
of  people  !  One  would  have  imagined  Madame  Paul 
would  have  been  in  despair  at  being  separated  from 
her  husband  for  two  months,  and  she  takes  it  quite 
composedly." 

Madame  Latour  de  la  Mothe  came  to  Paris  to  see 


PSYCHE   INSISTS   ON   LIGHTING    HER   LAMP.     24*3 

Paul  before  his  departure,  and  it  was  agreed  on  that 
she  should  remain  -with  Regina  till  his  return. 

To  most  people  Madame  Latour  appeared  an  ice- 
berg, her  presence  imposed  a  restraint.  Even  Paul 
had  ceased  to  be  at  ease  with  his  mother  ;  he  believed 
that  he  still  loved  her  as  of  old;  she  knew  better. 
She  saw  that  he  winced  under  her  old  provincial 
ways,  her  old  provincial  ideas.  Absence  and  change 
of  society,  V influence  du  milieu,  had  done  their  work 
surely.  Familiarity  between  mother  and  son  had 
vanished ;  they  scarcely  ever  conversed,  and  if  they 
did,  it  was  without  expansion. 

Regina,  on  the  contrary,  was  never  so  frank  as 
with  Paul's  mother.  She  would  sit  on  a  footstool  at 
her  side,  just  as  she  had  done  when  only  sixteen. 
Every  tone  of  her  voice,  every  glance  of  her  eye, 
expressed  the  affection  of  a  daughter,  and  Madame 
Latour  gave  in  return  the  affection  of  a  mother. 
Paul  wondered  to  see  how  prettily  Regina  caressed 
his  mother,  and  wondered  still  more  to  see  how  Re- 
gina could  brighten  and  soften  that  austere  mother. 

As  was  natural  under  the  circumstances,  Madame 
Aubry  avoided  the  Rue  Bleue.  After  the  arrival 
of  Madame  Latour,  she  called  once  on  that  lady,  but 
the  interview  was  cold  and  disagreeable,  and  never 
repeated. 

It  excited  Paul's  gratitude  to  watch  how  persever- 
ingly  Regina  held  to  her  promise ;  it  was  kept  not 
only  to  the  letter,  but  in  the  spirit — no  dejection,  no 
lamentations;  she  played  the  part  she  had  under- 
taken honestly.     He  was  the  more  grateful  that  he 


24A  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

was  aware  that  his  mother  was  on  the  qui  vive  to 
discover  if  there  existed  any  discomfort  in  his  house- 
hold. Juvigny  was  not  so  far  from  Paris,  nor  its  in- 
habitants such  stay-at-homes  as  she  was,  and  Paul 
had  his  own  reasons  for  believing  that  reports  of  his 
renewed  intimacy  with  Madame  Aubry  had  reached 
the  maternal  ear. 

Madame  Latour  de  la  Mothe  sometimes  marvelled 
to  herself  that  Regina  looked  forward  so  composedly 
to  Paul's  departure.  One  day  the  elder  lady  made 
an  observation  to  this  effect  to  the  younger. 

Regina  answered — 

"  I  have  made  a  vow  that  I  will  not  shed  one  tear 
till  he  is  gone.  I  wish  him  to  go  away  cheerful. 
The  Czar's  summons  came  at  the  right  moment. 
Paul  was  beginning  to  fancy  his  fame  was  waning." 

"  It  is  why  you  don't  wish  to  go  with  him  that 
puzzles  me,"  said  the  mother-in-law. 

"  If  I  went,  Paul  would  not  be  lodged  in  the  Pal- 
ace, that's  one  reason ;  and  then  there  are  all  sorts 
of  etiquettes  at  the  Russian  Court  which  would  an- 
noy him  dreadfully  on  my  account ;  there  is  also  the 
expense  to  consider.  He  would  have  taken  me  in 
spite  of  everything,"  said  Regina,  audaciously ;  "  but 
I  would  not  go." 

After  a  short  pause,  the  young  wife  added — 

"Maman," — with  what  fondness  she  gave  the  ti- 
tle ! — "  Maman,  you  must  bolster  up  my  resolution, 
for  sometimes  I  am  very  weak,  ready  to  crumble  to 
pieces." 

The  words  were  uttered  with  difficulty. 


PSYCHE   INSISTS   ON   LIGHTING    HER   LAMP.     245 

"After  he's  gone,  we  will  have  a  good  cry  to- 
gether," and  she  threw  herself  into  Madame  Latonr's 
anus,  who  felt  how  hard  and  fast  the  poor  thing's 
heart  was  beating. 

From  that  hour  Madame  Latour  de  la  Mothe 
avoided  the  snbject  of  Paul's  journey. 

The  day  fixed  for  his  going  arrived.  Such  mo- 
ments are  always  cruel.  Regina  had  maintained  her 
courage  to  the  very  last.  She  had  more  the  appear- 
ance of  a  waxen  image  than  of  a  living  woman  when 
they  met  on  the  last  morning  at  the  breakfast-table. 
She  tried  to  eat,  tried  to  smile. 

"  I  didn't  let  Joseph  pack  your  trunk,  Paul,"  she 
said,  suddenly  breaking  the  silence.  "  I  did  it  my- 
self." 

Here  she  paused,  drawing  several  long  breaths. 

"There's  a  list  of  your  clothes  pasted  in  the  inside 
of  the  lid,  and  in  the  pocket  there's  needle  and 
thread.     How  droll  it  would  be  to  see  you  sewing !" 

It  was  a  failure.  She  threw  up  her  hands,  and 
burst  into  tears.     How  she  did  weep ! 

Madame  Latour  de  la  Mothe  left  the  room. 

"Regina,  my  dear  love,  my  child,  my  heart,  don't 
Bob  so ;  you  will  hurt  yourself." 

"  Paul,  Paul,  say  once,  just  once,  that  you  love  me !" 

"  Of  course,  I  do ;  and  if  I  have  ever  pained  you, 
forgive  me,  Regina." 

She  was  now  so  quiet  as  she  rested  in  his  arms 
that,  for  an  instant,  he  thought  she  had  fainted 
away.  He  looked  anxiously  into  her  face;  her  lips 
were  moving  rapidly. 


246  A   PSYCHE    OF   TO-DAY. 

"  What  is  it  ?     Speak  to  me,  Regina." 

"  I  am  praying  to  God  for  help,  if  you  don't  love  me." 

She  had  entirely  ceased  crying. 

"  Won't  you  say  you  forgive  me  ?"  he  asked, 
moved  by  sudden  remorse. 

She  did  not  answer  that  she  had  nothing  to  par- 
don, but  she  drew  down  his  face  to  hers,  kissed  him 
on  the  lips,  saying,  "  I  do  forgive  you." 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door ;  it  was  Joseph,  who 
came  to  warn  his  master  "  that  the  coach  was  at  the 
door." 

"You  go  with  the  luggage;  I  shall  walk,"  said 
Paul. 

"  Let  me  walk  with  you,"  whispered  Regina ;  "  I 
will  behave  well,  and  Joseph  can  bring  me  back." 

"  My  dear  girl,  be  guided  by  me ;  it  would  be  good 
for  neither  you-  nor  me :  now  let  me  go,  dearest," 
said  Paul,  as  she  clung  wildly  to  him. 

"  Be  brave,  my  sweet  heart,  for  my  sake." 

He  kissed  her  several  times,  called  to  his  mother, 
embraced  her  hastily,  and  ran  down  stairs. 

"  Call  him  back,  call  him  back ;  I  want  to  say 
something  to  him  ;  I  must  see  him  once  more ;  I  can't 
remember  his  face :  call  him  back." 

"  He  is  gone,  my  daughter,"  said  the  poor  mother 
repi'essing  her  own  agitation. 

"Come  with  me,  maman." 

"My  poor  child  !  my  dear  daughter — " 

Regina  broke  from  her  mother-in-law's  arms,  and, 
running  to  the  atelier,  threw  the  window  open,  lean- 
ing almost  all  her  body  out. 


PSYCHE   INSISTS   ON  LIGHTING    HEB   LAMP.     2-47 

She  saw  the  well-known  figure  walking  swiftly 
away;  in  two  minutes  more  he  would  have  turned 
the  corner.  A  lady  crossed  the  street  hurriedly. 
Regina  was  sure  it  was  Madame  Aubry. 

She  drew  back  with  a  groan.  It  smote  on  her 
heart  that  it  was  a  prearranged  meeting :  that  Paul 
had  sent  on  Joseph  with  the  luggage,  had  refused 
her  prayer  to  be  allowed  to  go  with  him,  because  he 
and  Madame  Aubry  had  concerted  to  be  together  to 
the  last. 

"  I  think  I  am  dying,"  sighed  Regina,  as  Madame 
Latour  came  into  the  atelier. 

Alas !  we  do  not  die  once,  but  many  times  before 
a  grave-stone  is  laid  over  us. 

Regina  had  to  be  carried  to  her  bed. 

From  this  time  forth  she  lighted,  like  Pysche,  her 
lamp,  searching  for  evidence  of  what  was  to  break 
her  heart  if  found.  No  matter  what  she  was  doing, 
her  mind  was  ahvays  working.  She  passed  and  re- 
passed in  review  every  trifle  that  had  reference  to 
Madame  Aubry  and  Paul;  and  it  was  strange  how 
the  intensity  of  her  intention,  strained  in  one  direc- 
tion, brought  her  knowledge. 

One  day,  as  she  and  Madame  Latour  were  sitting 
at  work  together,  Regina  said  suddenly — 

"I  wonder  Paul  did  not  marry  Madame  Aubry  ?" 

The  elder  lady,  thrown  oft*  her  guard  by  the  quiet 
tone  in  wThich  the  question  was  put,  answered — 

"  She  knew  that  as  long  as  I  lived  I  never  would 
consent  to  his  marrying  her.  A  frivolous,  light- 
headed creature.     I  never  could  understand  his  pas- 


248  A   PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

sion   for   her,"   added   Madame  Latour,   incautious 
through  indignation. 

***** 

Paul  wrote  very  regularly  to  his  wife :  there  was 
no  want  of  expressions  of  anxiety  about  her  health, 
nor  of  caressing  epithets — of  dears  and  darlings. 
Nevertheless,  these  letters  did  not  satisfy  Regina. 
She  missed  something  in  them  :  he  mentioned  him- 
self so  little ;  told  her  next  to  nothing  of  his  daily 
life ;  of  what  he  felt  or  what  was  said  to  him ;  of  his 
triumphs  or  vexations ;  nothing  of  those  ti'ifles  we 
relate  so  willingly  to  one  we  look  upon  as  another 
self. 

Her  letters  to  him  were  charming  in  their  naivete. 
She  sent  him  a  sort  of  diary,  relating  even  the  con- 
versations she  heard.  She  once  wrote  him  a  descrip- 
tion of  a  family  of  chiffoniers,  whom  she  watched  daily 
from  her  bedroom  window,  that  was  a  little  chef- 
d'oeuvre  of  pathos  and  humor.  She  could  write,  too, 
of  her  love  with  far  less  reserve  than  she  could  have 
spoken. 

Nothing  like  this  in  his  answers;  and  presently 
his  letters  began  to  distress  her.  The  first  impres- 
sion they  gave  was  that  of  disappointment.  She 
would  read  them  over  and  over  again,  until  the  first 
effect  produced  was  diminished,  and  she  had  almost 
persuaded  herself  that  she  had  been  mistaken. 

Then  came  another,  inflicting  the  same  discomfort. 
She  felt  sure,  though  she  could  not  have  explained 
why,  that  Madame  Aubry  was  for  something  in  this 


PSYCHE   INSISTS   ON   LIGHTING   HER  LAMP.     249 

change  of  Paul's  style.  Long  since  Regina  had  come 
to  know  that  Paul  wrote  as  often,  if  not  oftener,  to 
Madame  Aubry  than  he  did  to  herself.  Lncile  had 
frequently  unconsciously  wrung  Regina's  heart,  by 
telling  her  that  "maman  had  had  a  Ions;  letter  from 
Monsieur  Latour,  and  that  he  was  well  and  so  gay.*' 
Did  Madame  Aubry  send  such  messages  out  of  kind- 
ness? 

Many  of  Regina's  sayings  at  this  period  were  after- 
ward recalled  by  Madame  Latour  and  Lucile  Aubry ; 
for  this  little  girl  was  always  finding  some  plausible 
pretext  to  be  with  Madame  Paul,  the  object  of  her 
adoration. 

"  If  we  had  only  guessed !"  said  every  one.  "  Paul 
might  have  been  warned — she  might  still  be  here 
and  happy.  She  would  so  willingly  have  let  her- 
self be  deceived."  As  it  was,  no  one  conjectured 
that  the  young  wife's  mind  was  on  the  rack. 

That  great  fund  of  the  unknown,  which  we  call 
chance,  had  arranged  that  she  should  exchange  doubt 
for  certainty. 

One  morning  when  Paul  had  been  absent  three 
months,  Regina  received  a  letter  from  him  which 
excited  both  alarm  and  astonishment.  Every  line 
was  impregnated  with  irony ;  slight  indeed,  and 
which  might  have  escaped  the  notice  of  an  indiffer- 
ent person. 

"  You  are  surely  not  well,  my  dear,"  said  Ma- 
dame Latour,  when  they  met  at  ten  o'clock. 

Regina  replied,  "that  she  was  unaccountably 
cold — nothing  more." 


250  A   PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

"  You  want  your  breakfast,"  said  the  mother-in 
law,  going  to  hurry  Joseph. 

Though  it  cost  her  a  struggle,  Reg-ina  ate  a  little 
to  please  Madame  Latour. 

"  Well,  you  are  warmer  now,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Not  much,  maman  ;  perhaps  if  I  go  out  the 
air  will  do  me  good."  Regina  did  not  allude  to 
having  heard  from  her  husband  that  morning.  She 
could  not  trust  herself  to  speak  of  him  or  his  letter. 
She  could  not  have  borne  that  any  eye  should  rest 
on  such  dry,  biting  words  addressed  by  Paul  to  her. 
She  kept  turning  over  in  her  mind  what  he  could 
mean  by  praising  her  for  being  such  a  model  of  pa- 
tience and  of  wifely  obedience,  and  then  that  long 
tirade  about  the  extremes  of  fashion  in  St.  Peters- 
burg. 

It  was  a  strange  answer  to  a  letter  in  which  she 
very  well  remembered  to  have  said — 

"  I  sometimes  ask  myself  if  I  do  not  wish  to  love 
you  less.  You  understand  that  it  is  a  selfish  wish  ; 
but,  indeed,  I  am  too  happy  to  have  you  to  love.  I 
would  like  to  give  you  all  my  share  of  hapjnness  in 
this  world.  The  love  I  have  for  you  absorbs  all  my 
thoughts  and  all  my  heart.  I  have  a  little  flower 
you  gave  me  one  day — a  bit  of  jessamine — it  is 
faded  and  dry.  It  does  me  good  to  have  something 
from  you  to  look  at."  It  was  very  girlish,  but  it 
was  sterling  ore. 

Paul  was  angry  about  something  or  other — that 
was  the  conclusion  to  which  Regina  came.  She  would 
write   to  him  frankly,  as   a  wife   mig-ht  write  to    a 

J  7  O 


TSYCHE   INSISTS   ON  LIGHTING  HER   LAMP.     251 

husband.  She  would  complain  of  the  tone  of  all 
his  letters,  claim  her  right  to  his  confidence,  tell  him 
she  did  not  deserve  his  irony;  that  never  since  the 
world  began  had  there  been  a  woman  whose  whole 
soul  and  affections  were  more  completely  given  to 
a  husband  than  hers  to  him.  She  was  young  and 
ignorant — she  was  doing  her  best  to  make  herself 
more  fit  to  be  his  companion.  Would  he  not  have 
patience  with  her  ?  He  must  be  good  and  write  to 
her  kindly — he  must  remember  that  an  hour  of  trial 
was  before  her.  She  might  die.  It  would  be  a  com- 
fort to  him  in  such  a  case  to  think  he  had  made  her 
happy.  He  might  scold  her  as  much  as  he  pleased,  only 
he  must  tell  her  that  he  loved  her,  loved  her  only. 

She  had  been  pacing  up  and  down  the  neighbor- 
ing square  while  concocting  the  letter  she  was  to 
write  that  day.  She  made  sure  that  coming  from 
her  heart  it  must  find  its  way  to  Paul's ;  and,  full 
of  new-born  hope,  she  went  back  to  the  house  and 
wrote  one  of  those  loving,  incoherent  letters,  which 
no  art  can  imitate. 

When  she  had  sent  it  away  her  spirits  rose,  as 
though  she  had  received  some  good  news,  or  as  if  she 
had  gained  her  cause  with  Paul. 

"  Your  walk  has  done  wonders,"  observed  Ma- 
dame Latour.  "  Whenever  you  feel  that  nervous 
chill,  you  must  always  eat  something,  a  biscuit  with 
a  spoonful  of  wine,  and  go  out  for  ten  minutes." 

Regina  answered  cheerfully,  "I  shall  take  your 
advice,  maman.     You  always  give  good  advice." 

That  evening  Regina  sang  several  songs,  and  she 


252  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

and  Madame  Latour  laughed  over  her  panic  at  Ma- 
dame de  Lusson's  soiree  at  Juvigny. 

"  I  did  not  think  then  I  should  ever  be  your  daugh- 
ter," said  Regina. 

"  The  possibility  crossed  me,"  replied  Madame  La- 
tour. 

"  Did  it  ?     Why  ?" 

"  Because  you  were  very  pretty,  and  a  charming 
girl ;  it  even  seemed  strange  to  me  that  Paul  should 
have  let  Charles  Gerard  have  a  chance." 

"  Really  !"  exclaimed  Regina,  in  a  tone  of  delight. 
"  Oh,  maman,  how  nice  it  is  to  hear  you  say  this,  for  I 
am  certain  you  mean  every  word  you  say ;"  and  Re- 
gina nestled  close  to  her  mother-in-law. 

"  You  don't  think  I  am  much  changed,  do  you  ? 
Paul  won't  be  shocked  when  he  sees  me  ?" 

"Absurd,  child!"  said  Madame  Latour,  almost 
fondly.  "  When  do  you  mean  to  become  a  reason- 
able woman  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  mother.  It's  pleasant  to  love  some 
one  foolishly." 

Madame  Latour's  severe  eyes  softened :  "  God 
bless  you,  my  dear  child — my  very  dear  child,"  she 
said,  kissing  Regina  on  the  forehead. 

Letters  are  delivered  in  Paris  as  late  as  half-past 
nine  at  night.  Just  as  Madame  Latour  pronounced 
her  blessing,  Joseph  brought  in  a  letter. 

Retina  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  address  was  in 
the  same  hand  as  that  of  the  anonymous  letter  of 
months  back.  It  was  Hortense's  unformed  writing, 
without  any  attempt  at  disguise. 


PSYCHE  INSISTS   <>N    EJGHTtNG    HER  LAMP.    3§3 

"Who  is  your  correspondent?"  ariked  Madame 
Latour,  as  Regina  examined  the  direction. 

"A  person  who  was  Madame  Sain  cere's  cook  when 
I — an  unhappy  ehild — first  came  to  the  Rue  Blanche. 
Hortense  was  very  kind  to  me  then,  and  for  long  af- 
terward, but  I  Wish  she  would  not  write  to  me." 

"Surely  that  girl  went  all  wrong?  What  can  she 
have  to  say  to  you,  Regina  ?" 

"I  don't  Tcnow,"  replied  Regina,  with  a  Blight  Hush. 

"I  would  return  her  letter  unopened,  my  dear. 
Don't  you  fall  into  the  romantic  philanthropy  of  the 
day,  and  fancy  you  find  every  virtue  save  one  in 
these  sort  of  women." 

"I  cannot  act  rudely  to  Hortense,  after  accepting 
her  gifts  for  years  ;"  and  Regina  told  how  every  New 
Year's  Day,  while  she  was  at  school,  she,  the  grand- 
daughter of  the  Comte  and  Comtesse  de  Rochetail- 
lee,  had  been  indebted  for  the  etrennes  that  saved 
her  from  mortification  to  the  ci-devant  cook." 

"  My  sister  should  not  have  allowed  it ;  these  com- 
promises never  lead  to  good.  You  must  find  some 
way  of  putting  an  end  to  all  intercourse  with  this 
person." 

"  I  will  request  her  not  to  send  me  any  more  let- 
ters." 

"  You  are  not  to  write  her  one  line.  I  shall  make 
known  to  her  that  by  my  desire  you  decline  all  fur- 
ther correspondence." 

"You  will  not  write  unkindly?" 

"  No  ;  but  remember,  my  daughter,  there  is  nothing 
more  dangerous  than  a  false  position.     A  woman's 


254:  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

life  should  be  as  clear  as  crystal ;  above  all,  her  ac« 
tions  should  be  avowable  without  a  blush.  I  don't 
suppose  you  could  confess  to  receiving  letters  from 
this  Hortense,  even  to  Paul,  without  some  embar- 
rassment." 

"  I  shall  do  as  you  wish  in  future,  marnan." 
"  And  why  not  immediately  ?   Don't  read  that  let- 
ter." 

"  She  may  be  in  distress,  or  wanting  help." 
"  Don't   let  my  advice  vex   you,  my  dear,"   said 
Madame  Latour,  struck  by  Regina's  increasing  pal- 
lor.    "  Read  your  letter  and  let  us  go  to  bed." 

"  Yes,  I  will  say  good-night,"  said  Regina,  rising. 
"  You  are  not  angry  with  me,  mother  ?  It  is  wrong 
to  be  so  obstinate." 

"  The  matter  is  not  worth  further  discussion,  my 
dear.  Youth  and  asre  seldom  see  matters  in  the 
same  light.  To-morrow  we  will  come  to  some  de- 
cision.    Good-night,  my  sweet  chdd." 


CHAPTER  XXHI. 

OUR  HOPES  ARE  FROZEN  TEARS. 

Regina  laid  the  unopened  letter  on  her  dressing- 
table,  allowing  Celestine  to  brush  and  arrange  her 
beautiful  hair  for  the  night. 

"  Madame  does  not  read  her  letter  ?"  asked  Celes- 
tine, peering  over  her  mistress's  shoulder  to  see  the 
direction,  with  all  the  familiarity  of  a  French  lady's- 
maid. 

"  By-and-by,"  said  Regina. 

"  It  does  not  come  from  Monsieur.  Ah  !  if  Mon- 
sieur could  see  Madame's  eyes  when  his  letters  arrive 
— they  light  up  like  a  match.  Ah  !  if  he  could  see 
them." 

Regina  smiled. 

"  He  never  will.  If  he  were  once  home  again  I 
should  never  have  any  letters  from  him.  There,  that 
will  do,  Celestine ;  roll  up  my  hair." 

"  What  hair  !"  went  on  the  soubrette.  "  It's  a 
pity  no  one  knows  but  I  how  long  and  thick  it  is." 

"  Never  mind — that  will  do — go  to  bed,  my  good 
Celestine." 

"  Madame  does  not  wish  me  to  put  out  the 
candle  ?" 

"  Xo — £Ood-niodit." 

Instead  of  at  once  opening  Hortense's  letter  as 


256  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

soon  as  she  was  alone,  Regina  went  to  the  window, 
undrew  the  curtains,  and  looked  out.  The  night  wan 
beautiful — a  summer  night — almost  as  clear  as  day. 
There  was  a  temporary  lull  in  the  noise  of  the  great 
city;  not  so  much  as  the  echo  of  a  footstep  reached 
her  eai\ 

Curiosity  and  apprehension  alternately  possessed 
her.  She  felt  like  one  about  to  play  for  a  stake, 
which,  if  lost,  brings  irretrievable  ruin.  "Whenever 
she  turned  her  eyes  toward  the  letter,  a  shuddering 
seized  her.  Why  should  Hortense  write  to  her? 
Though  the  voice  of  truth  in  her  heart  warned  her  to 
beware  of  one  who,  though  meaning  well,  had  already 
pointed  the  arrow  of  suspicion  at  her  husband,  yet 
Regina  persisted. 

"  Whatever  is  fated  will  take  place,"  and  the  en- 
velope was  opened.  She  perceived  in  an  instant  that 
the  enclosure  was  in  her  husband's  writing,  W'ith- 
out  giving  herself  time  to  reflect,  she  spread  the  sheet 
of  paper  before  her  and  read  as  follows : 

"  My  bear  Friend — 

"  Many  thanks  for  the  account  you  give  me  of 
my  cava  sposa.  You  are  my  good  Providence. 
What  you  say  reassures  me,  qualifies  my  mother's 
representations.  Yesterday  I  had  begun  to  think 
seriously  of  renouncing  the  fruit  of  my  journey 
hither,  and  of  returning  to  Paris.  My  mother  is  so 
anxious  about  this  expected  grandchild,  that  she 
magnifies  all  Regina's  little  ailments.  What  proves 
to  me  that   you   are   right  in  ascribing  my  wife's 


OUR  HOPES  ARE  FROZEN  TEARS.       257 

present  Indispositions  to  her  aerves,  is  that  she  is 
capable  of  the  exertions  yon  describe.  Relying  on 
your  judgment,  I  shall  put  off  my  return  till  close  on 
the  grand  crisis.  I  suppose  men's  paternal  feelings 
develop  at  sight  of  the  bambino.  Up  to  this  mo- 
ment 1  know  nothing  of  the  rapture  and  pride  of  a 
father.  In  fact,  every  time  I  see  a  small  specimen 
of  humanity,  I  am  seized  with  a  dread  of  what  is 
before  me.  1  look  forward,  however,  to  this  child 
with  the  hope  that  it  may  fill  the  void  in  her  life 
which  Regina  experiences  with  me.  How  can  it  be 
otherwise  ?  We  are  both  of  us  the  victims  of  miscal- 
culation— I,  that  my  mother  prevented  my  marrying 
you,  the  only  woman  I  ever  loved — and  she,  that  I 
committed  the  folly  of  marrying  her. 

"  Too  late,  too  late  for  us  all,  my  heart's  blessing. 
We  must  make  the  best  of  the  position,  and  for  the 
few  years  that  remain  to  us,  avoid  any  separation. 

"The  Emperor  is  most  gracious,  very  familiar — 
the  dangerous  familiarity  of  a  lion.  The  grand- 
duchesses  are  handsome  and  amiable.  I  do  not  know 
whether,  as  you  say,  they  try  to  make  you  forget 
their  rank.  What  I  am  sure  of  is,  that  they  do  not 
succeed  in  doing  so.  I  wish  for  you  every  day,  and 
every  hour  of  the  day,  &c.  &c.  Thank  you  for  all 
your  efforts  to  keep  on  good  terms  with  my  tigress, 
it  is  a  sacrifice  you  make  for  my  sake." 

And  much  more  to  the  same  effect.  The  conclu- 
sion was — "  Your  Paul." 

Regina  sat  for  long,  looking  at  the  signature, 
quite  unconscious  that  she  had  been  guilty  of  any 

17 


258  A  PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

wrong:  in  reading-  what  was  not  intended  for  her. 
When  she  recovered  the  power  of  thinking,  her 
purity  of  soul,  her  naive  faith  in  others,  her  hopes  of 
happiness — all,  all  were  crumbled  into  dust — van- 
ished like  the  shadow  of  a  dream :  gone,  gone  for- 
ever. She  could  never  believe  in  human  being 
again.  She  had  one  wish,  the  wish  that  comes  to  all, 
with  the  first  knowledge  of  having  been  deceived 
by  the  one  most  loved,  the  one  in  whom  unbounded 
trust  has  been  reposed.  If  those  who  betray  could 
know  what  it  is  they  inflict,  of  the  wrecked,  dev- 
astated life  of  the  betrayed — all  lost,  without  re- 
source !  For  there  are  some  who  cannot  forget, 
cannot  pardon.  Undeceived — it  is  for  life!  One 
pang  rose  above  the  rest:  it  was  that  Paul  had 
called  Madame  Aubry  his  heart's  blessing — a  term 
of  endearment  that  Regina  was  in  the  habit  of  giv- 
ing to  him;  that  was  the  sharpest  thrust  of  all. 
After  a  crisis  like  this,  such  as  Regina  become 
strang-ers  to  their  former  selves.  Thev  have  been 
translated  into  another  world.  Kot  one  well-known 
thing  or  person  will  wear  a  familiar  air  for  them ; 
words  will  have  another  signification ;  music,  paint- 
ing, poetry  will  rouse  other  sensations. 

It  was  not  reason,  but  instinct,  the  instinct  of  the 
stricken  deer,  which  made  Regina  seek  to  hide  her 
wound.  When  Celestine  entered  her  room  the  next 
morning,  Regina  was  in  the  attitude  of  one  who 
sleeps  soundly.  She  kept  her  eyes  closed,  without 
courage  to  bear  the  sight  of  a  human  being.  She 
felt  her  maid  lay  something  on  the  bed. 


OUR   HOPES  ARE   FROZEN   TEARS.  259 

As  soon  as  Celestine  had  slipped  noiselessly  out  of 
the  room,  Regina  jumped  out  of  bed  and  carried  a 
newly  arrived  letter  to  the  window.  Enough  light 
came  through  the  bars  of  the  Venetian  blinds  to 
allow  of  her  reading  it.  Yesterday,  what  delight 
the  sight  of  that  handwriting  would  have  bestowed! 
To-day  it  filled  her  with  disgust.  Why  should  she 
break  the  seal  ?  What  could  he  have  to  say  to  her  ? 
Nothing.  And  so  she  remained,  holding  the  unread 
letter,  until  Celestine  came  back  with  an  inquiry 
from  Madame  Latour,  if  there  were  good  news  from 
St.  Petersburg. 

Regina  tore  off"  the  envelope ;  a  flower  fell  out — a 
white  cyclamen,  Re'gina's  favorite  flower.  It  was 
Celestine  who  picked  it  up.  Urged,  perhaps,  by 
some  remorse  for  the  sentiments  he  had  expressed  to 
Madame  Aubry,  Paul  had  written  quite  like  a  lover 
to  Rejnna.  He  had  even  found  touching  words  to 
say  of  the  expected  baby. 

As  Regina  read,  she  smiled — no,  it  was  not  a 
smile,  but  a  contraction  of  the  lips  that  Celestine 
took  for  a  smile. 

"Tell  Madame  Latour"  (hitherto  Regina  had  al- 
ways said,  speaking  of  Madame  Latour,  "  my  moth- 
er")— "  tell  Madame  Latour  that  Monsieur  will  return 
in  less  than  three  weeks." 

"  And  Madame  is  not  wild  with  joy  ?" 

At  Celestine's  question,  Regina  burst  into  tears. 
She  had  not  yet  wept  since  reading  the  letter  to 
Madame  Aubry. 

Celestine  was  alarmed.     "  Madame  must  not  cry  so, 


260  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

Madame  would,  hurt  herself,"  and  the  maid  brought 
eau  de  cologne  and  eau  de  fleurs  d'oranger. 

"  Let  me  cry,  let  me  cry,"  gasped  Regina,  laying 
her  head  on  Celestine's  shoulder. 

The  passion  spent  itself,  and  then  Regina  bid  Ce- 
lestine  go  with  the  news  to  her  mother-in-law.  Once 
alone,  she  opened  the  window,  threw  out  the  bit  of 
white  cyclamen,  and  watched  a  passer-by  tread  on  it 
with  an  expression  of  scornful  pleasure.  She  pinned 
together  the  two  letters,  the  one  to  Madame  Aubrey 
and  the  other  to  herself,  and  placed  them  in  her 
desk,  where  they  were  afterward  found,  and  served 
to  clear  up  what  otherwise  had  been  a  mystery. 

It  must  seem  as  yet  unaccountable  to  the  reader 
how  Hortense  had  obtained  possession  of  the  letter 
to  Madame  Aubry.  Hortense,  living  under  the  same 
roof,  had  discovered  through  her  maid  that  Paul 
Latour  and  Madame  Aubry  kept  up  a  constant  cor- 
respondence. Partly  from  affection  for  Regina,  partly 
from  ill-will  to  Paul,  and  with  entire  wrongheaded- 
ness,  Hortense  left  no  stone  unturned  until  she  had 
intercepted  one  of  Latour's  letters.  With  a  strange 
scrupulousness  she  sent  it  unopened ;  only  his  wife, 
so  she  argued,  had  a  right  to  know  what  he  wrote 
to  other  women. 

One  thought  kept  its  place  in  Regina's  mind  that 
day  and  for  many  days  after,  until  at  last  she  could 
have  declared  some  one  was  perpetually  whispering 
it  to  her.  "What  is.  the  use  of  living?"  was  what 
the  voice  said.  She  sought  no  confidant :  there  was 
an  end  of  her  jealousy ;  anxiety  and  doubt  had  van- 


OUR  HOPES   ABE    JUOZEN   TEARS.  261 

ished.  In  the  very  suffering  of  jealousy  there  is  ex- 
citement;  where  there  is  sensation,  there  is  life. 
But  when  all  is  dumb  within  us,  when  there  is  nei- 
ther hope  nor  fear,  it  is  then  that  life  becomes  in- 
supportable. Can  any  one  suppose  that  a  loving- 
woman  of  Regina's  age  is  to  find  an  equivalent  for 
the  absence  of  all  the  joy  of  mutual  affection  in  the 
performance  of  her  domestic  duties? 

The  strongest  desire  that  Regina  now  had  was  to 
hide  the  knowledge  she  had  acquired.  She  be- 
lieved, as  so  many  young  women  do  in  her  situation, 
that  she  should  not  survive  the  birth  of  her  child. 
She  would  keep  her  secret.  As  long  as  she  lived 
no  one  should  ever  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  she  was  aware  that  Paul  did  not,  never  had 
loved  her.  Up  to  this  time  she  had  been  as  shy  of 
speaking  of  Paul  as  though  she  had  been  only  an 
engaged  girl.  From  that  fatal  night  a  singular  al- 
Iteration  took  place.  She  seized  every  opportunity 
of  talking  of  her  husband's  devotion  to  her,  and 
more  particularly  to  Madame  Aubry  and  Lucile. 
One  of  her  most  constant  assertions  was,  that  so  as 
Paul  had  her  with  him,  he  did  not  mind  where  he 
was,  and  that  it  was  all  she  could  do  to  make  him 
go  to  St.  Petersburg  without  her. 

Madame  Aubry  listened  with  astonishment  to 
these  declarations,  but  not  with  so  much  wonder  as 
Madame  Latour  de  la  ,  Mothe,  who,  with  a  woman's 
penetration,  had  soon  discovered  that  Regina  was 
troubled  with  many  misgivings  as  to  Paul's  love  for 
her.     There  was  another  change. 


262  A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

Regina,  who  had  hitherto  always  acted  on  the  de« 
fensive  with  Madame  Aubry,  all  at  once  assumed  the 
offensive,  finding  out  and  hitting  the  weak  places  in 
her  enemy's  armor.  Madame  Aubry  was  too  expe- 
rienced a  tactician  to  let  her  discomfiture  be  per- 
ceived. 

One  day,  however,  she  was  ill-advised  enough  to 
speak  of  a  letter  she  had  just  received  from  Latour 
before  some  persons  calling  at  the  same  time  with 
herself  on  Regina.     She  ended  with — 

"  You  are  not  jealous,  I  hope,  Madame  Paul  ?" 

"  Of  you  !  Jealous  of  you  ?  Oh  !  No  !"  Re- 
gina's  tone  and  the  little  accompanying  laugh  were 
inimitable — impossible  to  express  more  clearly  how 
grotesque  such  a  supposition  appeared  to  her. 

The  most  good-natured  of  those  present  said — 
"  Then  you  are  not  of  a  jealous  nature,  Madame." 

"  I  am  not  better  than  my  neighbors,"  returned 
Regina.  "  Yes.  I  think  there  are  women  of  whom 
I  could  be  jealous." 

When  one  woman  has  wounded  the  vanity  of  an- 
other to  the  quick,  no  return  of  good-will  can  be 
looked  for.  Madame  Aubry  came  no  more  to  the 
Rue  Bleue  till  one  day  after  Latour's  return. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

DYING    ECHOES. 

Yes,  Paul  was  coming  back ;  he  would  be  home 
in  ten  days.  Regina's  heart  had  leaped  for  joy  when 
she  first  heard  this.  Love  has  a  long  agony  before 
it  altogether  dies.  She  would  sit  hour  after  hour, 
shut  up  in  her  own  room,  doing  nothing  but  think- 
in;:-,  thinking  of  him — not  consecutive  thinking,  but 
a  kind  of  dreamy  recalling  of  everything  he  had  ever 
said  to  her,  of  the  few  attentions,  the  many  negli- 
gences he  had  shown  her,  of  his  letters.  She  thought 
over  all  that  had  passed,  the  whole  culminating  to 
the  one  point  that  he  had  declared  he  did  not  love 
her,  that  he  regretted  his  marriage. 

And  now  he  was  coming  home,  how  was  she  to 
receive  him  ?  And  he  ?  She  shrunk  with  disgust 
from  the  idea  of  his  caresses,  given  because  it  was 
proper  and  right  in  a  husband  to  kiss  his  wife  on  his 
return  home.  No ;  she  never,  never  could  put  her 
arms  round  his  neck  again,  and  feel  happy  that  it 
was  her  privilege  so  to  do.  Ah  !  what  a  misfortune 
for  them  both  that  she  had  been  enlightened !  So 
that  she  had  not  known  of  his  indifference,  happiness 
would  have  been  still  possible  for  her.  And  some 
day,  seeing  how  entirely  she  loved  him,  he  might 
have  come  to  care  for  her.  That  was  all  over ;  bury 
her  heart,  that  was  what  she  must  do. 


264  A   TSYCHE    OF   TO-DAY. 

One  day  after  the  other  went  by,  and  Paul's 
mother  watched  Regina's  listlessness  with  some 
alarm  ;  she  was  indeed  so  struck  by  it  that  she  sent 

privately  to  Dr.  M to  call. 

"Pulse  a  little  disturbed,"  was  the  Doctor's  ver- 
dict, and  he  lectured  Regina  on  the  necessity  of 
keeping  herself  calm,  of  avoiding  agitation, — advice 
about  as  easy  to  follow  as  when  some  patient,  with 
good  reasons  for  being  in  low  spirits,  is  told  to 
amuse  himself. 

All  the  morning  of  the   day  in  the   evening  of 
which   Paul  was  to  arrive,  Regina  went  restlessly 
about  the  house,  so   pale  and   sad-looking  that  it 
brought  tears  into  the  eyes  of  those  who  saw  her. 

"  She  is  not  going  to  trouble  anybody  long,"  ob- 
served Joseph  to  Celestine. 

"  Trouble,  whom  do  you  think  she  troubles  ?" 
asked  the  maid  pertly. 

"  A  way  of  speaking,  a  way  of  speaking,  young 
woman ;  we  are  all  troublesome  to  somebody  or 
other." 

"You  old  hypocrite,"  retorted  Celestine,  with 
feminine  losric. 

"Why  do  you  look  so  much  at  me  to-day,  moth- 
er ?"  asked  Regina  petulantly. 

"  Do  1  look  so  much  at  you,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Yes !  I  hate  to  be  stared  at." 

Madame  Latour  choked  away  a  sigh.  She  knew 
that  Regina  was  suffering,  and  yet  the  unusual barsh 
manner  hurt  her,  and  she  said  in  her  heart,  "Every 
one  thinks  an  old  woman  may  be  ill-used." 


DYING  ECHOES.  265 

Regina  had  laid  herself  on  the  sofa  in  the  little 
back  salon,  and  muffled  her  head  with  a  shawl,  to 
prevent  all  sounds  from  without  reaching  her.  She 
need  not  have  done  so,  for  a  deafening  noise  as  if  a 
dozen  bees  were  buzzing  in  her  ears,  and  the  beating 
of  her  heart  like  the  ticking  of  a  great  clock,  pre- 
vented her  hearing  anything  else.  She  was  ill,  very 
ill,  though  she  did  not  know  it. 

Presently  a  well-remembered  voice  spoke — 

"  Regina,  my  darling  !" 

She  sprung  to  her  feet,  and  stared  at  her  husband 
with  blood-shot  eyes.  He  was  holding  out  his  arms 
to  her. 

She  forgot  his  letter — her  doubts — her  resolutions ; 
she  only  saw  and  only  knew  that  Paul  was  before 
her;  she  sprang  to  his  embrace,  clinging  to  him  with 
rapture. 

"My  own,  my  darling !"  Paul's  arm  was  round 
her  waist,  his  eyes  looking  down  fondly  into  hers. 
"  You  have  not  given  me  one  kiss,  Regina !" 

A  tide  of  recollection  rushed  over  her ;  she  would 
have  turned  away  from  him,  but  that  he  held  her 
firmly.     "  You  have  not  kissed  me,"  he  repeated. 

She  tore  down  his  face  close  to  hers,  and  kissed 
him  on  the  lips  once,  twice,  violently;  then  she 
thrust  him  from  her,  and  went  back  to  the  sofa. 
Paul,  a  little  startled,  folloAved  and  said,  "Did  I 
hurt  you?"  and  would  have  again  taken  her  in  his 
arms,  but  she  said,  sharply,  "  Don't — don't !"  He 
was  sure,  now,  that  there  was  a  strangeness  in  her 
manner. 


2GG  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  You  are  my  little  wife— my  property,  and  I  claim 
it,"  again  putting  his  arm  round  her.  "When  a 
man  has  been  more  than  four  months  absent,  lie 
wants  to  be  made  much  of  and  petted."  While 
speaking,  he  laid  his  head  on  her  shoulder.  She  let 
it  lie  there,  yet  neither  speaking  to  him,  nor  return- 
ing the  pressure  of  his  hand.  He  was  close  to  her, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  as  though  she  could  not  reach 
him,  as  if  she  were  inaccessible  to  him. 

Twenty  times  Regina  was  on  the  point  of  telling 
Paul  that  she  had  read  that  unlucky  confession  of 
his  to  Madame  Aubry.  She  would  have  liked  to 
say,  "  No  need  for  you  to  play  a  part,  we  are  equals 
now,  our  hearts  in  the  same  key,  mine  as  indifferent 
to  you  as  yours  to  me.  I  don't  belong  to  the  living." 
But  her  tongue  was  tied  by  Paul's  influence  over 
her.  Absent  from  him,  she  could  think  and  act  in- 
dependently. His  presence  enslaved  her,  and  she 
sat  silent,  shuddering,  indignant  with  him  and«her- 
self. 

The  moment  of  reaction  must  come,  the  tension 
of  her  mind  relax,  or  reason  pay  the  penalty.  She 
turned  suddenly  on  him,  placed  her  two  hands  on 
his  shoulders,  and  looking  him  in  the  face  said,  with 
a  face  blanched  by  terror  and  pain — 

"  No  need,  Paul,  to  make  any  more  pretences. 
I  believe  I  am  dying.  I  know  you  don't  love  me — 
never  did  love  me.     Quick  !     Call  your  mother !" 

"  Are  you  mad,  Regina  ?"  he  exclaimed,  throwing 
his  arms  round  her.  "What  nonsense  is  this  you 
have  taken  into  your  silly  little  head  ?" 


DYING   ECHOES.  267 

"  I  read  it  myself !  You  wrote  it  all  to  Madame 
Aubry !  I  read  it !  Hortense  sent  it  to  me  !  You 
should  not  have  married  me." 

Paul  turned  almost  as  white  as  Regina. 

"  Call  Maman  !  For  God's  sake,  call  her— call  her !" 

Madame  Latour  came,  and,  as  soon  as  she  saw 
Regina,  desired  Joseph  to  take  a  cab  and  fetch  Dr. 
M . 

Regina  could  not  be  persuaded  to  go  to  her  bed. 
She  would  lie  moaning  on  the  sofa  for  five  minutes, 
then  start  up  and  begin  pacing  the  room  till  weak- 
ness forced  her  again  to  the  sofa.  Paul  was  in  a 
pitiable  state.  He  knelt  by  his  wife,  reiterating  that 
he  did  love  her — that  he  had  written  that  fatal  letter 
in  a  moment  of  irritation.  He  dared  not  avow  that 
he  had  done  so  to  pacify  Madame  Aubry,  who  had 
shown  a  jealousy  of  Regina  that  had  alarmed  him. 
Untrue  to  both,  his  sin  had  found  him  out. 

The  night  of  the  14th  of  August  was  a  terrible 
night — twelve  hours  never  to  be  forgotten  by  any  of 
those  then  in  Latour's  house. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Paul  could  be  kept 
away  from  the  side  of  his  wife's  bed,  though  every 
time  she  caught  sight  of  him  she  screamed  out  that 
he  was  killing  her. 

At  break  of  day  of  the  15th,  the  fete  of  the  As- 
sumption, Dr.  M sought  Paul  and  told  him  that 

Regina  was  safe,  and  that  he  was  the  father  of  a 
little  girl.  Prematurely  born,  the  child  was  not 
likely  to  live  long  :  it  breathed,  and  that  was  all :  the 
sooner  it  was  baptized  the  better. 


268  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

"  May  I  go  to  Regina  ?"  asked  Paul. 

"  She  must  not  be  agitated."  There  was  so  much 
misery  in  Paul's  face,  that  the  doctor  added,  "I  will 
go  and  see  whether  you  can  be  admitted." 

Dr.  M had  gained  sufficient  information  from 

Regina's  incoherent  words  during  the  night,  to  have 
a  shrewd  guess  that  matters  were  not  right  between 
the  husband  and  wife.  With  infinite  caution,  he 
broached  the  subject  of  his  mission. 

"  The  baby  must  be  baptized,  and  Paul  would  be 
glad  to  consult  her  about  the  names,  and  also  about 
the  sponsors." 

"  She  is  to  be  called  Marie  Dolores." 

Dr.  M said,  "Marie  is  pretty,  but  the  other 

name  is  not  French." 

"It  wras  the  name  of  my  father's  mother."  Then 
she  added  angrily,  her  face  flushing  violently,  "  but 
I  don't  care  what  you  call  the  monkey." 

"  She  may  be  a  good  Christian  by  any  name," 
said  the  doctor  smiling. 

Regina  did  not  speak. 

"  Do  you  feel  able  to  see  Paul  ?" 

The  same  silence,  but  the  doctor  saw  an  angry 
sparkle  in  her  eye. 

Several  times  in  the  course  of  the  day  Paul  went 
to  her  bedside,  but  to  all  he  said  to  her  (and  Heaven 
knows  he  had  never  spoken  so  caressingly  to  her, 
never  looked  at  her  so  fondly,)  she  made  no  reply : 
gave  no  return,  save  a  curious  low  derisive  laugh. 
Once,  when  he  leaned  over  the  baby  lying  by  her 


DYING  ECHOES.  269 

side,  she  eyed   him  so  fiercely,  that    be   hurst  into 
tears. 

She  closed  her  eyes  as  one  weary. 


Somewhat  to  Dr.  M 's  surprise,  Regina  recov- 
ered rapidly,  and  the  bahy  continued  to  live.  It 
lived,  but  it  did  not  thrive.  The  young  mother 
would  never  let  it  out  of  her  arms  except  when  it 
was  absolutely  indispensable  that  the  rosy-cheeked 
Norman  woman,  its  nurse,  should  have  it.  As  for 
Paul,  Regina's  love  for  him  had  given  place  to  de- 
cided aversion.  She  would  neither  speak  to  him  nor 
look  at  him.  Day  after  clay  he  brought  her  flowers, 
the  sweetest  and  the  choicest.  Her  dressiug-room, 
where  she  now  always  sat,  was  strewed  with  the 
most  costly  baubles  and  toys  invented  to  amuse 
grown-up  children.  Not  a  morning  but  she  found 
some  gift  awaiting  her.  Paul,  the  indifferent  hus- 
band, had  become  an  impassioned  lover.  Every 
fault  exacts  its  expiation.  Human  vengeance  may 
sleep  ;  conscience  does  its  work  bravely. 

Paul  used  to  watch,  through  the  glass  door  of 
communication  between  his  room  and  the  dressings- 
room,  the  effect  on  his  wife  of  his  morning's  offering. 
Once  his  heart  beat  with  hope:  it  was  when  he  saw 
Regina  look  with  interest  at  "  La  Journee  de  Ma- 
demoiselle Lili."  He  had  left  the  book  open,  and 
she  turned  over  every  page,  showing  the  engravings 
to  the  unconscious  babe  in  her  arms. 


270  A   PSYCHE   OF   TO-DAY. 

Nothing  came  of  it.  When  he  went  in  to  wish 
her  good-morning,  Regina  turned  away  her  head, 
and  to  all  he  said  gave  no  reply.  One  day  he  knelt 
down  before  her,  took  her  hands  in  his,  and 
said — 

"  Look  at  me,  Regina ;  do  yon  not  see  that  I  am 
unhappy  ?" 

He  was  indeed  the  shadow  of  the  handsome,  suc- 
cessful Paul  Latour  de  la  Mothe. 

"  Look  at  my  hair,"  he  added.  "  It's  growing  gray, 
my  love,  because  I  am  so  wretched.  And  it  is  all 
a  mistake.  You  would  believe  me  if  I  told  you  I 
did  not  love  you,  why  can  you  not  believe  me  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  do  ?" 

Tears  were  rolling  over  her  cheek. 

"Why  do  you  cry,  my  darling  ?" 

"  Because  you  hurt  my  hands,"  she  said,  whim- 
pering like  a  child. 

He  fled. 

For  some  time  the  doctor  and  his  mother  com- 
forted Paul  by  assuring  him  that  many  women  were 
eccentric  after  their  confinement ;  and  a  common 
thing  that  the  eccentricity  should  manifest  itself  by 
aversion  to  the  person  most  dear — to  the  husband 
or  child.  Time — care — travelling — generally  effected 
a  cure. 

Madame  Saincere  had  a  whole  list  of  cases  where 
the  wife  recovered  after  the  lapse  of  more  than  a 
twelvemonth. 

Dr.  M recommended  Paul  to  be  less  assidu- 
ous in  his  attentions  to  Regina ;   to  pass  his  morn- 


DYING  ECHOES.  271 

ings  in  the  atelier.  Very  probably  when  she  missed 
him,  she  would  begin  to  wish  for  his  presence. 

"  Finish  your  '  Iphigenia,'  "  said  T)r.  M ,  "  you 

have  just  time  before  the  opening  of  the  Exhibition." 

Regina  had  sat  to  Paul  for  Agamemnon's  daugh- 
ter :  he  had  made  an  excellent  likeness  of  his  model, 
but  had  sought  in  vain  to  impart  to  the  face  of 
"  Iphigenia"  the  expression  suitable  to  her  horror  and 
her  terror  when  she  discovers  that  she  is  to  be  the 
victim  offered  to  the  offended  god. 

As  he  sat  now  contemplating  his  half-finished  pic- 
ture, he  remembered  how  he  had  been  almost  exaspe- 
rated by  the  shy,  happy,  loving  look  with  which  llegi- 
na's  eyes  always  met  his,  whenever  he  bid  her  turn 
them  toward  him — the  very  look  becoming  in  a  wil- 
ling bride,  but  not  to  one  about  to  be  sacrificed.  Those 
beautiful  eyes  were  now  as  perfect  as  ever  in  shape, 
but  that  peculiar  clearness  which  belongs  to  great 
youth  and  health  had  vanished.  ]\Iany  bitter  thoughts 
occupied  the  painter's  brain.  He  wondered  over  the 
blindness  of  human  beings,  which  prevents  their 
seeing  where  happiness  lies  ;  so  often  close  to  us, 
and  yet  we  cannot  see  it.  He  felt  that  his  life  was 
broken  up,  and  it  was  by  his  own  weakness.  Paint- 
ing !  yes,  he  had  believed  that  art  alone  could  give 
his  existence  sufficient  interest;  that  the  exercise 
of  his  intellectual  powers  alone  would  be  sufficient 
to  make  life  grateful.  He  understood  now  that 
there  is  nothing  one-sided  in  nature — the  affections 
must  be  in  the  right  direction  as  well  as  the  intel- 
lect.    Every  tear  he  had  made  Regina  shed  was  now 


272  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

weighing  down  his  heart.  We  must  respect  the 
rights  and  feelings  of  others,  if  we  would  secure 
our  own  peace.  What  is  remorse  but  a  protesta- 
tion of  human  nature  against  the  wrongs  we  have 
inflicted.  Not  a  touch  of  the  brush  did  Paul  give 
that  day.     It  had  cost  him  a  great  effort  to  follow 

Dr.  M 's  advice,  and  remain  away  from  Regina 

for  several  hours.  In  his  afternoon  visit  to  her,  he 
told  her  that  he  had  been  trying  to  finish  the 
"  Iphigenia."  He  had  taken  the  new  habit  of  telling 
her  everything  that  he  did  during  the  day — and  that 
in  spite  of  her  unvarying  taciturnity.  And  how  he 
had  formerly  repulsed  her  every  endeavor  to  enter 
into  his  life,  to  be  his  companion.  God  help  us,  how 
stupid  we  are  when  we  tread  down  affection  ! 

The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  Paul  was  in  the  ate- 
lier, Regina  came  thither  with  her  baby,  and  un- 
asked, placed  herself  opposite  to  him  as  his  model. 

"  Thank  you,  darling.  I  shall  now  be  able  to  finish," 
and  he  hastily  placed  the  platform  for  her  to  stand 
on.     "  Will  you  allow  nurse  to  hold  baby  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  It  will  fatigue  you  too  much,"  he  said,  tenderly ; 
but  he  desisted  from  further  remark,  for  he  saw  her 
anger  rising. 

She  placed  herself  in  the  necessary  pose. 

"How  well  you  remember  !"  Six  months  ago,  the 
caressing:  tones  of  his  voice  would  have  made  her 
heart  leap  for  joy. 

He   had  found  the   expression  for   "  Iphigenia's" 


DYING  ECHOES.  273 

eyes;  his  hand  trembled  as  he  strove  to  copy  what 
made  his  misery.  At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  the 
sleeping-  infant  woke  with  a  wail,  and  Regina  went 
away  without  a  word,  as  she  had  come. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  RAINBOW    ABOVE    THE    WRECK. 

Paul  was  examining  his  work  of  the  day  hefore 
with  mingled  pain  and  wonder,  when  he  was  startled 
by  the  appearance  of  Madame  Aubry  at  his  side. 

"  For  God's  sake,  go  away !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Re- 
gina  may  come  here  at  any  moment,  and  if  she  meets 
you,  the  consequences  may  be  fearful." 

"  Why  don't  you  come  to  see  me  ?"  cried  Adeline. 
"  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  your  neglect  ?  It 
was  no  fault  of  mine  that  you  wrote  as  you  did — 
none  of  my  doing  that  your  letter  reached  your 
wife's  hands.  There  was  nothing  after  all  so  very 
dreadful  in  what  you  said." 

"  Go  away,  for  God's  sake !"  reiterated  Paul, 
"  you  don't  know  the  evil  you  may  cause." 

"Is  she,  then,  really  very  ill?"  asked  Madame 
Aubry. 

"  I  have  always  had  great  confidence  in  you,"  he 
replied  ;  "  so  I'll  tell  you  a  secret,  two  secrets — she 
is  mad — mad — very  mad;  and  I  adore  her." 

Madame  Aubry  said — 

"Hush  !  there's  a  step." 

"Go  into  the  little  room,  remain  there,  I  implore 
you.     I  will  do  my  best  to  release  you  soon." 

Madame  Aubry  had  scarcely  closed  the  door  on 
herself  before  Regina  appeared,  always  carrying  her 


A   RAINBOW   ABOVE   THE  WRECK.  5S75 

baby.  She  paused  after  she  had  come  forward  some 
few  steps,  and  looked  about  her  uneasily;  however, 
after  that  moment's  hesitation  she  went  and  placed 
herself  on  the  platform.  But  Paul  perceived  that 
she  was  far  less  tranquil  than  she  had  been  the  day 
before ;  her  nostrils  quivered,  and  her  lips  twitched 
nervously. 

He  painted  on,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  did  ;  and 
yet  instinctively  rendering  the  disturbed,  fiercely 
passionate  face  before  him.  If  the  baby  would  only 
wake  and  wail !  His  sensations  were  those  of  a  man 
on  the  scafibld  hoping  for  a  reprieve. 

Regina  stood  very  quietly :  all  of  a  sudden,  just 
when  Paul  for  an  instant  had  his  head  bent  over  his 
color-box,  she  made  a  bound  to  the  glass  door,  and 
before  he  could  reach  her,  had  opened  it.  There 
were  woman's  screams — a  baby's  Avail — a  violent 
struggle. 

"  Joseph  ! — mother !"  shouted  Paul,  and  Madame 
Aubry  rushed  through  the  atelier. 

When  Madame  Latour  and  Joseph  ran  in,  Regina 
was  holding  Paul's  bleeding  hand  to  her  lips. 

"Look  to  the  child,"  said  Paul,  pointing  to  the 
poor  baby  lying  on  the  floor. 

No  questions  were  needed,  the  scene  explained 
itself. 

Regina  obeyed  Paul  the  moment  he  asked  her  to 
go  upstairs;  but  she  would  not  let  go  his  hand  once 
she  was  in  her  room  ;  he  said — 

"  You  don't  wish'  me  to  die,  Regina  ?  and  I  shall 
if  you  do  not  allow  my  hand  to  be  bound  up." 


276  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

She  let  it  go,  and  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  folding 
her  arms  round  his  knees. 

"  I  will  not  leave  you,  my  dear  one ;  lie  down  on 
the  sofa,  and  I  will  sit  by  your  side." 

She  did  as  he  hid  her,  her  eyes  always  riveted  on 
him,  and  seemingly  having  forgotten  her  baby. 

The  wound  she  had  given  Paul  was  without  doubt 
intended  for  Madame  Aubry.  The  blow  had  been 
dealt  with  his  palette  knife,  which  she  had  caught  up 
and  concealed  with  the  cunning  of  madness.  It  was 
supposed  that  the  strong  patchouly  with  which 
Madame  Aubry  was  always  perfumed  had  been  the 
betraying  cause  of  that  lady's  presence. 

Dr.  M and  Madame  Saincere  seized  this  occa- 
sion to  try  and  persuade  Paul  to  let  Regina  be  removed 
from  home,  and  placed  for  a  time  under  special  su- 
pervision. But  to  their  amazement  Paul  scoffed  at 
the  supposition  that  his  wife  was  mad,  though  we 
know  he  had  owned  to  Madame  Aubry  that  she  was 
so.  He  would  listen  to  no  plan  or  project  which 
was  to  separate  Regina  from  him  ;  he  said  "  that  she 
had  only  done  what  any  jealous,  passionate  woman 
might  be  guilty  of.  The  Manolas  who  stabbed  their 
lovers  were  not  put  in  Maisons  de  Sante. 

"  Some  day  the  police  will  interfere,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. 

"  If  you  set  them  on  a  false  scent,"  returned  Paul, 
furiously,  "  you  and  I  will  have  to  settle  that  mat- 
ter." 

"  God  help  you,  my  dear  Paul ;"  and  the  doctor 
ran  away  to  hide  his  emotion. 


A   RAINBOW   ABOVE   THE   WRECK.  277 

"Curious  inconsistency  of  human  nature,"  observed 

Madame  Saincere  afterward  to  doctor  M .    "  This 

man,  who  was  indifferent,  if  not  disdainful  of  his  wife, 
while  she  was  full  of  health  and  beauty  and  devo- 
tion for  him,  has  suddenly  conceived  what  I  should 
call  a  furious  passion  for  the  poor  crazed  creature." 

"  The  '  inaccessible,'  that's  the  attraction,"  replied 
the  doctor;  "the  instinct  of  the  hunter  after  an  unat- 
tainable prey." 

"  And  you  think  there's  no  chance  for  her  recov- 
ery  ?" 

"  There's  nothing  impossible  ;  but  as  far  as  my  ex- 
perience goes,  I  should  say  but  small  hope.  Phys- 
ical and  moral  causes  have  united  to  destroy  her 
reason." 

"  And  all  promised  so  well  in  the  beginning  of 
their  marriage  !     Every  thing  seemed  so  suitable." 

Dr.  M arched  his  eyebrows. 

"  You  mean  what  is  called  a  mariage  de  raison — 
a  blase  man  and  an  inexperienced  girl.  Paul  once  said 
to  me,  and  said  justly,  'That  it  was  monstrous  to 
marry  a  man  with  worn-out  feelings,  who  has  heen 
steeped  in  all  the  dissipations  of  the  world,  to  a  pure 
young  girl,  with  all  her  feelings  fresh  and  strong.' 
In  short,  the  situation  has  produced  a  natural  result 
— a  tragedy,  and  a  tragedy  of  which  I  wish  I  could 
be  sure  of  the  end.  Regina  must  be  watched  closely ; 
her  having  used  a  knife  alarms  me." 

For  weeks  Pegina  remained  tolerably  docile, 
though  she  had  every  sort  of  caprice,  all  of  which 
Paul  satisfied.     He  would  not  have  her  contradicted. 


278  A  PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

One  of  her  whims  was  to  dress  herself  and  her  baby 
in  the  costume  of  a  Dominican  nun.  Anything  more 
lugubrious  than  the  mother  and  child  thus  habited, 
it  is  not  possible  to  conceive.  It  required  the  cour- 
age of  affection  and  of  a  great  compassion  in  the  nurse 
and  Celestine  that  they  remained  in  the  house. 

Paul's  friends  gathered  round  him  in  this  disastrous 
period.  Ernst  Biirgmuller,  Valton,  Georges  Tully, 
proved  they  could  feel  deeply  and  seriously.  All 
that  love,  friendship,  and  science  could  do  was  done 
for  the  husband  and  wife.  Love  alone  withstood  the 
daily  proofs  that  the  evil  was  on  the  increase.  Re- 
gina  could  scarcely  be  brought  to  eat ;  it  was  only 
when  she  saw  Paul's  tears  that  she  yielded  to  take  a 
morsel  from  his  plate,  or  to  drink  out  of  his  cup. 
She  had  taken  a  fancy  that  there  was  a  general  con- 
spiracy against  her,  and  that  some  night  she  was  to 
be  killed.  Occasionally,  however,  there  would  flash 
across  her  folly  and  incoherence  traces  of  her  former 
sweet  loving  self;  and  now,  when  all  disguise  was 
impossible,  it  was  manifest  what  a  gentle  soul  she 
had  been,  and  how  she  had  suffered  from  Paul's  neg- 
lect and  coldness. 


A  terrible  storm  had  raged  over  Paris  on  the  15th 
of  November,  just  three  months  since  the  birth  of 
the  child. 

The  lightning  and  thunder  lasted  for  hours.     Re- 

gina  was  violently  agitated.     Dr.  31 had  been 

in  the  Rue  Bleue  for  hours,  and  had  insisted,  when 


A   RAINBOW   ABOVE  THE   WRECK.  270 

he  left,  on  leaving  a  strong  woman  from  one  of  the 
Maisons  de  Sante  in  charge  of  Regina. 

As  soon,  however,  as  Regina  perceived  a  stranger 
in  her  room,  she  shrieked  so  dreadfully,  and  implored 
Paul  so  pathetically  to  send  away  her  enemy,  that 
he  yielded.  In  vain  the  keeper  remonstrated  with 
him,  and  advised  him  at  least  to  allow  her  to  occupy 
for  that  night  his  room,  adjoining  that  of  Regina. 
As  usual,  he  persisted  in  saying  that  all  such  precau- 
tions were  useless. 

Very  little  ever  transpired  of  the  events  of  that 
night.  About  three  in  the  morning  the  house  was 
alarmed  by  the  loud  ringing  of  Paul's  bedroom  bell. 
The  keeper  was  the  first  to  answer  it.  Regina  was 
kneeling  on  the  bed,  Paul  holding  her  hands. 

From  what  was  wrung  from  Paul,  it  would  appear 
that  after  long  watching  he  had  fallen  into  a  sound 
sleep,  out  of  which  he  had  been  awakened  by  the 
pressure  of  something  cold  on  his  chest ;  that  by  the 
light  of  the  night-lamp  he  had  seen  Regina  in  her 
night-dress  standing  by  his  bed.  She  had  laid  her 
baby  on  his  breast.  It  was  quite  stiff  and  cold. 
Regina  had  said  to  him — 

"  It  never  cried,  Paul.     N"o  marrying  for  her." 

What  further  had  passed  he  never  told,  but  from 
Paul's  exhausted  appearance,  there  must  have  been 
some  fearful  struggle.  He  had  evidently  rung  his 
bell,  which  luckily  hung  at  the  head  of  his  bed,  only 
at  the  last  extremity. 


Paul  is  still  travelling  with  his  wife. 


280  A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 

In  every  letter  he  assures  his  mother  that  there  is 
a  great  amelioration  in  Regina's  health  of  mind  and 
body,  and  that  he  exj^ects  to  bring  her  home  shortly 
quite  restored.  In  his  last,  he  adds,  "  A  new  era  of 
happiness  for  us  all  is  at  hand." 

"  Pray  God  it  may  be  so !"  sighs  the  mother. 


THE   END. 


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